


Proving a Point

by Orestiad



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Highschool AU, M/M, Other, Swearing, Underage Drinking, offensive slurs, slight homophobia, so many gays it's awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orestiad/pseuds/Orestiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred was another kid who tried to fit into highschool and make something of himself. Arthur just wanted to prove to his parents that he could do much worse. </p><p>// rewritten, originally on ff.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First: A disclaimer once and for all : I don't own Hetalia and English is not my first language, so sorry for any errors. 
> 
> Second: I am going to use some slurs or things that could be offensive, because frankly said the main characters are brats. I tagged every warning I could think of lol. 
> 
> Third: I am not American, and I tried my best to research the American high school system... if there are any mistakes concerning i.e. the electives, I'm sorry! 
> 
> The story will mostly be from Arthur's view, though still third person.

If there was one thing that Arthur couldn't begin to understand, it was how his parents still put up with him.

At seventeen years old, Arthur had done everything - except for actual murder and other really offensive crimes – to try and have his parents fuck up and get angry at him. He did feel ready to kill something right now, though, as the alarm went off.

He clutched his head, recognizing the headache and the nauseating feeling as a hangover, one hand shooting out from under the covers to slam the damned thing off. Even better, break it. His hand met nothing but his night stand and the magazines on top, and with a growl he remembered moving the damned thing to his desk so that he would actually get up for once.

Still, he would not relent. He turned around and hid in the covers again, seeking warmth. The beeping got really annoying, but he could block it out. Perhaps put up some music to cover it, instead? Grabbing his cell phone from underneath his pillow, Arthur cursed at the bright light. He had a few texts and Facebook notifications, mostly from people of the party yesterday. Francis sent a particular long text around four a.m. about his conquest, which Arthur promptly deleted.

 _For fuck's sake_ , wasn’t that alarm supposed to shut itself off after five minutes?

Now that he had woken up anyway because of scrolling through his phone, Arthur sat up angrily, hair sticking out in every place. He considered throwing his phone to his alarm instead, but that would do more bad than good, so he got up with a grimace. Reaching his desk, he slammed the damned thing off, relishing in the instant silence.

Perhaps he could go back to bed.

As if on cue, his door – which he thankfully not forgotten to lock last night – was knocked on incessantly. “Get up loser, mum says you have to go whether you like it or not!” His younger brother yelled.

“Get lost, brat!” Arthur scoffed in return, glaring at the door. Apparently satisfied by that Arthur was awake, Peter left and he heard loud footsteps thudding down the stairs further into the hall. Deciding he might as well go to school, he walked over to his joint bathroom – the only real blessing in this place.

He mulled about a bit and grabbed a washing cloth, wetting it and rubbing it over his face. Bad move. Yelping and cursing loudly, Arthur dropped the cloth and grabbed the counter, looking in the mirror with slight panic.

Wait, what?

Was that a _bridge?_

Arthur raised his eyebrows at his own reflection. Well, rather impressive that he hadn’t noticed it up until now. But he was fairly sure that he didn’t have one when he woke up yesterday. He leant forward and touched it gingerly with one finger – yeah, it definitely hurt. _Must be new then, probably got it at the party yesterday._

He thanked the heavens that despite being a drunk ass most of the time, Gilbert was at least a good piercer and that it didn’t look crooked or whatever. There was a little swelling around the piercing, but nothing horribly noticeable. Arthur was just happy that he hadn’t let himself be talked into taking a piercing in his eyebrows – he did not need more attention attracted to them.

Staring at his reflection, he tried going over the night before. He remembered most of it – party at the Beilschmidt house. Francis had dragged him along, and even though Arthur hated large crowds, he could do with the company and the booze.

Knowing he was going to miss first period at this rate, Arthur decided to take it easy. He could make up some lame excuse, the teachers never bothered with it anyway. He doubted some of the others were even going to show up at all. But Arthur had a few classes today that he actually enjoyed, and everything beat staying at home.

Once he finally stumbled down the stairs as well, running a hand through his drying hair, he noticed his mother hadn’t left for work yet. She hummed something as she stood in the kitchen, finishing up her coffee and gathering everything for her suitcase. Taking note of his arrival, she turned around with a smile.

It froze when her eyes settled on the two dots sticking out in the middle of Arthur’s face however, and Arthur smirked smugly. She decided to ignore it, looking a little disappointed but continuing packing up. “No more parties during school days, sweetheart.” She said, and honestly, why did she bother? Arthur could be locked up in his room and he’d find a way out of the window, or something. “Have a good day.”

"Whatever." He muttered, watching as she left. The door shut behind her and Arthur let out a frustrated groan. Why wasn't she mad? He had gone to a party on a Wednesday, had gotten absolutely drunk, and had made no point of hiding it when stumbling in the house at three a.m.! He even had a new piercing to boot, which counted the facial ‘scarring’, as his mum put it, to a total of three. Four if you count the tiny little scar on his nostril from a failed nose-ring.

Not feeling hungry, Arthur sat down on one of the chairs in the kitchen and grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one quickly. Hopefully his nausea would fade into something more calm later on. Better yet, cure it with a swig of wine that Francis hopefully smuggled into the school.

Peter entered the kitchen in a hurry, grabbing an apple before grimacing at his older brother. "You're not allowed to smoke in the house!"

"What are  _you_ going to do about it?"

"I'll tell mom!"

"Go wild. Aren't you late?" He tried to puff out rings of smoke but failed, as usual, glaring at Peter when he noticed he wasn’t getting a response. Peter snapped out of it, complaining about how Arthur was just as late as him, before scurrying off the hallway. Ten minutes later Arthur heard the door shut loudly and he closed his eyes, enjoying the emptiness of the house.

It wouldn’t last very long – Peter would be home by one, his mum by two. Thank god that his other brothers had moved out. If he were lucky, his supposed-father figure wouldn’t return until at least after dinner.

He hated that man. He had been with his mother only for about three years now, and already he thought he could just waltz into Arthur and Peter’s life and decide that he was their dad from now on. As if it wasn’t bad enough that they suddenly packed their stuff and moved from England to America in the span of one summer vacation.

Christ, he had even once heard him ask Peter if he could call him dad. Thank the heavens that the brat had declined. He had no idea where his own fuckup of a father was supposed to be, only that he left when Arthur was six and Peter two, and he had fought every single day with either his brothers or his mum after that. It didn’t help that his three brothers had another father than him and Peter, either.

He thought when he grew up he would grow out of it, but then mister dickhead appeared and things got even worse. Especially because he actually thought he could order Arthur around as if he were his boss or whatever. That right wasn’t even reserved for his mom.

Though Arthur delighted in making the man angry. His piercings, none of them older than three years as well, served to do that and also to the man’s religious mother who also insisted on them calling her grandma. He was fairly sure that both his mom and him knew about his tattoos, having dropped hints here and there but never actually showing them. He took up smoking out of spite, though the booze was just a nice side-effect that came with being friends with Francis.  

Who, mind you, had been his friend since the day he had stepped foot on the school grounds and had loudly complained about people driving on the wrong side of the road. Francis had immediately been taken with his British accent, apparently, and from there on they were usually not seen far apart.

But who was he kidding. Even tonight, drunk and all, he remembered coming home and loudly announcing his displeasure at the world and his family. He had a good, loud verbal thrashing with his stepfather, before storming to his room and passing out on the bed, only half undressed. Smoking, drinking, piercings, breaking rules, it didn’t matter. His folks were convinced it was just a phase.

Which upset him even more – they weren’t even taking him seriously.

Thinking about how dying his hair a neon colour would go over before rejecting the idea – he was rather fond of his hair as it was - Arthur managed to get up again and grab his bag. He usually kept the books he needed in his locker at school, because he either didn’t do his homework or did it beforehand.

He was late for first period, as expected, and instead off barging into the room in the middle of a class, he opted to wait it out on the parking lot of his international school.

That too. A fucking _international_ school, as if Arthur, being a Brit, couldn’t understand Americans.

Though he supposed it had its advantage – there were hardly any Americans on this school, most of the students originating from Europe or Southern America. The Asian population was nothing to joke about either, so it also made for quite the diverse classes.

About ten minutes before second period would begin, a familiar car drove in and parked neatly. Arthur scoffed, mentally preparing himself. He watched as Francis gracefully stepped out of the car, swishing his ridiculously long hair while doing so. God, he was such a girl.

"Oh,  _sourcils!_ " Francis called with delight. Arthur glared. "How do you feel? You were  _so_ drunk last night,  _mon ami_."

"Yes, yes, don't remind me. I have the hangover, don't worry." Arthur said sarcastically, slapping Francis his arm from his shoulders. "It wasn't even a fun party."

The other laughed, shaking his head. "It's never a fun party when you're there, Arthur. Ouch, stop, I was joking! What _is_ that?" Francis asked, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. Arthur slapped his hand away before Francis could prod at the bridge.

Francis went off in a rant about what he had also texted about that night, his latest conquest. Arthur tried to block the homosexual adventure out as much as he could, because to be honest, Francis always went into way too much detail. Seeing that his friend was not listening, Francis tutted.

"Lighten up a little. Your sex life is so boring. Or well, your non-existent sex life."

"Shut up, frog! Just because you sleep around with anything that's willing, doesn't mean we're all like that!" Arthur snarled, glaring at the other. Francis laughed in response, trying to ruffle the smaller man’s hair, but Arthur ducked out of the way.

They postponed the rest of the conversation because of second period. At least it was one of Arthur's favourite classes - literature. He was exceptionally good in it too, and he liked to brag about it. Well, to himself. No one was really impressed with him being good in literature. His mum would be, but she would be impressed with him for everything, the dolt.

He dazed off during his classes, trying to will the headache he still had away. Today was going to be a non-productive day, whether he wanted it or not. He decided to go to the library to turn in some books, and loaning a few others, in his short break. It wasn't until the lunch break, he saw Francis again. They almost immediately started up their argument again.

"You should try it, Arthur, perhaps it'll take the edges off!"

"Edges off what?"

"Your sexual frustration!”

Damn the frog. Gilbert snickered, but was otherwise engaged pestering some Hungarian classmate of his via texting. Arthur was actually surprised he had bothered to show up, knowing the German usually took a day off after throwing a party.

"Leave him be,  _amigo_. Not everyone is so romantically driven as you." Antonio said soothingly, and Francis pouted, leaning back. Antonio was perhaps the calmest of them all, even if he wasn’t a saint either. “Did you get home last night in one piece?" He asked, turning to Arthur.

Gilbert dramatically interrupted. "I took his sorry ass home! He didn't even thank me for it!" Arthur gave him a look, and Gilbert ignored him. "I was about to get it on with this cute Canadian guy too, and then he just intervened."

Arthur scowled. "Oh, I intervened? I was having a great time until you claimed you had to drag me home! What, that guy wasn't awesome enough for you? Obviously you used me as an escape."

"Matthew is  _very_ awesome."

"Matthew? Matthew Williams?" Francis asked suddenly, turning away from his own phone. Gilbert nodded smugly.

" _Ja_ , he's quite the adorable-"

"Jones’ brother is gay?” Francis interrupted, a spark in his eyes. “Gay, gorgeous twins, that is quite the American dream indeed!”

"Oh please," said Arthur. "Jones has girls flocking at his side every moment. And Matthew being gay all of a sudden probably has something to do with Gilbert and alcohol.”

Gilbert sniffed at the slight insult. "Yeah right. I bet my pay-check from last month that they're _both_ gay.”

“I bet the golden boys are not even out.” Francis continued, clasping his hands together as if conspiring with the others.

Gilbert laughed a little too loudly. “I remember when Ludwig admitted he had a thing with Feliciano, oh man, my folks were  _so_ angry it wasn't even funny. At least they already knew I was a total – albeit awesome – little shit."

"Don't talk about your parents like that." Antonio scolded softly.

“Stuff it, spig. Not everyone is raised by their careless aunt and uncle.” Antonio made an offended face, muttering under his breath in Spanish but dropping the matter. “Besides, Jones has to be gay. He has been making heart-eyes at our favourite Brit since forever.”

Arthur raised his head in surprise. What? He didn’t even know this guy, did he even have classes with him? “Impossible, I’ve never actually met him.”

Francis sighed. “Dear, you have at least three classes with him. Blonde hair, glasses, acts like a child but has the body of Adonis himself?”

Arthur frowned and went through his memories. He usually sat in front of class because somehow that always kept the teacher of your back – everyone sitting in the back of the room are checked upon much more.

“Wait, you mean that giant with the stupid bomber jacket, we are talking about the same Alfred Jones?” The three other boys hummed in agreement. “That bloke is so straight, it hurts.” He decided, thinking over how the overly enthusiastic boy always acted in classes, eager to please his teachers and probably spending way too much time in the gym. Besides, wasn’t he on the school’s football team? He probably beat up homo’s for fun.

“As if you would know! You have no gay-dar, you are not gay. What are you, even?”

“Not interested.”

Miffed by the sarcastic reply, Francis decided to divert the conversation back to Gilbert and his fling with Matthew the night before. Truth to be told, he had no idea what he was either. He wasn’t unfamiliar with sex, because alcohol could make you do stupid things, with girls and with guys alike. But he hadn’t ever really felt _real_ attraction to anyone. Researching had said he might be asexual, but that was stretching it far too, since he definitely enjoyed the act once in it.

Not that it mattered, he didn’t have the energy or time to put up with something as stressful as a relationship anyway. And most people he met, aside from his own friends, were not interested in the whole friends-with-benefits thing either. And hell would freeze over before he would again go to bed with the Frenchman, that had been one time and one time only.

Conversation eventually bled out to more of the party and eventually to next parties and their upcoming exams. Arthur was mostly prepared. He knew he had to pass them and graduate in order to get the hell away from his family, so he made an effort for the exams at least. But school was such a hoax. It didn’t matter if you didn’t do your best in class, as long as you passed the exams you would get your paper anyway.

The parties were usually hosted by either Gilbert or their Danish friend, Mathias, and popular amongst the entire school. Most of the kids in the school came from wealthy families, able to afford international schooling, and thus most of their parents disapproved of having their homes open. Gilbert’s and Mathias’ parents were often away, so they had free reign over the house at least once a week.

Though if you wanted a night to remember, you definitely had to go to a party of Abel. They weren’t common, perhaps once or twice a year, but the Dutchman lived up to every stereotype of his countrymen. That meant pot, alcohol, and usually a few fights broke out as well. He graduated last year however, so the parties probably stopped as well. A shame, really, for they were usually hilarious.

Hearing Gilbert rant to Antonio about his homophobic parents however, got him to think. His stepfather had a brother once, his mum told him, but he had been disowned for being in a relationship with a man. His stepfather never even talked about the man, and the one time Arthur had visited his side of the family, all the pictures had either been altered, or the frames were empty. Safe to say, the man himself was probably against it too.

And on cue, a _brilliant_ idea formed.

He had no idea how his mother looked to same-sex relationships. They had frankly said never talked about it. Arthur knew for a fact that his older brother Dylan was bisexual, but so far he had only brought girls home and his parents were none the wiser. Dylan apparently wanted it to stay a secret too, and only him, Allistor and Seamus knew.

Arthur actually liked Dylan the best out of the three, so his secret was safe with him anyway. Seamus was usually the biggest pain in the ass. The bastard had taken on his father’s name, McCarthy, while the rest of the brothers had taken on their mothers name, Kirkland. He always picked on Arthur too, often teaming up with Allistor. Dylan usually tried to calm the three or just stayed out of it, and somehow Peter was pretty much left out of the entire ordeal.

But he was straying from his idea.

‘Operation – piss stepdad off by getting a boyfriend or whatever’, didn’t seem like such a bad operation. Grinning to himself a little, he could already see the anger on the other man’s face in his head. And as he had said before, he wasn’t really opposed to the idea of regular sex with either a girl or a guy, it was the actual relationship that Arthur wasn’t in the mood for. Though there needn’t be an actual relationship, of course. Just making clear to the man that the boy he so desperately wanted to call son was like his brother – well, that had to seal the deal, right?

“Arthur, _ma biche_ , whenever you are plotting something horrible your eyebrows attract so much attention.”

Dragged out of his chain of thoughts and plans, Arthur spluttered, slapping a hand over his forehead. He thanked whatever guardian angel he had that he missed his bridge, feeling it throb slightly still. “Shut up, you frog!” he reached over to whack his blonde friend on the head, but Francis laughed delightedly and leant out of his reach.

“What are you planning, anyway?”

Ignoring the question, Arthur turned back to Gilbert. “You said Jones has been making, what, heart-eyes at me, right?”

Gilbert, slightly confused by the question, nodded. Francis was stupidly giggling beside them, probably having figured it out already. Antonio looked a bit disapproving, but didn’t care enough to interrupt.

“Perhaps I need to do something about that, then.” Arthur said eventually with a sly grin. Understanding dawned on Gilbert’s face, and the white-haired man laughed. The hair had been a bit much at first, when Gilbert first bleached it until it was stark white two years ago, but it had stuck and he was used to the odd sight by now. He used to have more piercings too, but he had taken out quite a lot over the last year, growing tired of all but his tongue- and ear-piercings.

Francis claimed to be more delicate than that, though Arthur _knew_ he had at least one piercing somewhere on his body. Antonio however, was a clean slate. His Italian boyfriend was trying to convince him to get a tattoo of a tomato however, to prove, in Lovino’s words, ‘that he was a tomato bastard’, but he didn’t relent.

After laughing it out, Gilbert gave him a serious look. “I’m all for you tapping some ass, but if you fuck up my chance with his brother, I will break your nose.”

“As if you could.” Arthur snapped back, though reassuring that he didn’t want to have anything to do with the twin. The bell for their next period rang out obnoxiously after that, Antonio hurrying to meet his boyfriend between classes whilst the other three dragged themselves out of the bench.

They didn’t share the next class, so Arthur bid his goodbye to them before turning into a different hallway than they did. On his way to his computer science elective, he was mulling over his plan. First he had to find out which classes they shared, so he had to be a little more alert this week during his classes. They didn’t share literature, so he figured perhaps they shared only their electives. He was almost never present during in his foreign language class either, Francis having made sure Arthur spoke fluent French, nor did he often attend P.E., so perhaps he was also in there.

Moving from England whilst he was still in high school to America with their different systems, hadn’t been too hard for Arthur fortunately. Becoming quick friends with Francis on his first day, he had help with choosing electives and such, and within no time he had settled in as if he had always been there.

Back to this Jones guy. He had to find out which classes they shared, and Arthur had to make sure to be seated next to the dolt from there on. Perhaps inviting him to a party or something would be the best casual way – though if he could judge for himself if Alfred was indeed eyeing him like Gilbert had said, he doubted that being blunt wouldn’t do the job either.

The problem solved itself for him however, as he was about to enter the classroom and instead collided with someone who was trying to rush into the room himself. The idiot had been running, so their collision was sudden and left Arthur breathless for a moment, clutching his bag to his side.

"Watch where you're going, you bloody twat!" He snapped, regaining balance. He glared up at his assaulter.

As fate would have it, Alfred F. Jones and his ridiculous big grin stared down at him. "Oh, sorry, didn't see you there… You all right?"

The ‘get lost’ was already on Arthur’s lips, but he saw an opportunity when it appeared. Instead he bit his lips, swallowing the insult, and was immensely smug when, _indeed,_ Alfred’s eyes followed the movement.

This was going to a lot easier than Arthur had initially thought. Deciding a little hard-to-get would always be fun, Arthur mockingly glared at him. “Someone nearly ran me over – am I all right?”

"Hey now, no need to get all hot and bothered. It was an accident. Here," Arthur turned around again, seeing that Alfred was holding out one of his notebooks. "Slipped outta your bag." Alfred said with a smile.

Arthur snatched it without a word. It was his fault anyway. He wondered if giving the other a sultry look would be too much all at once, and decided that yeah, it would be. Instead, he turned around and sat in the front, before cursing. Shit, he had to wait until Alfred was going to sit down so that he could sit next to him.

Alfred walked past his table with a laugh.  "Feisty, aren't you?"

"Could you just… Oh forget it." Arthur said, taking the opportunity when he saw that Alfred was standing still by his table. He removed the bag he had slung over the empty table next to him and dragged it over to his own, eyeing the empty place before looking back up to the boy.

Arthur flashed him a charming smile. "Alfred, was it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spig - a person of Hispanic descent  
> Ma biche – my doe


	2. Chapter 2

During dinner that evening, there had been no eventful fights or arguments. His stepfather hadn’t been home, as he had predicted, and his mother was engaged with Peter about some of his afterschool activities. Arthur had kept quiet, deciding to mull over his plan instead.

Despite the calm evening, Arthur was still feeling nauseous and therefore snappy over everything. His mother scolded him for playing with his food instead of eating it, commenting on how he shouldn’t go out and drink so much if he didn’t want to be sick. Knowing his mother wouldn’t do anything about it anyway, Arthur had merely scowled and told her off, leaving the table and heading to his room quickly after.

Yesterday had proven to be quite a bit more eventful. It had been _really_ easy to worm his way into Alfred’s day. The poor boy had almost missed the entire class because he was on high alert for whenever Arthur wanted to say something to him. It didn’t take Arthur very long to find out which classes they shared.

Also, the boy talked. _A lot._

He knew quite a bit more than he had wanted about the American boy, and it was all nonsensical stuff too, like how he loved his McDonalds and Marvel and stupid stuff like that. But he had seem very eager to interact with Arthur, so at least that meant Gilbert had been right. _Why_ the golden American dream boy of the school saw something in _him_ however, was beyond him.

Arthur knew he was attractive, sure. Despite his embarrassing eyebrows, which he managed to skilfully hide most of the time with his bangs, he was confident about the rest of him. He had a lean body, piercing green eyes, the British accent did wonders when he needed something from someone, and he knew how to smile just right to get the female population to swoon. He’d been told that the entire piercings and smoking thing sometimes added to some sort of dangerous allure, but he found that rather ridiculous.

But still, even though enough people would totally be down with him if he wanted them to, he was generally known to be too much trouble or just trouble in general.

And Alfred, well, Arthur had a particular image of the boy. Rich parents, proud of their two boys. Athletic, because he was in the football team, so probably a typical jock. Takes girls out for dinner and a movie and doesn’t go to second base until at least the second date. God, his idea of fun was probably going to the beach too.

So yeah, no, they were total opposites in Arthur’s eyes. And he knew that opposites attract, but this was just ridiculous. Alfred was asking for trouble, but Arthur was more than willing to give it to him. Why should he care how Alfred gets treated afterwards, anyway? If the other boy wanted to go down the wrong road so badly, let him.

It was already clear about how this would go if yesterday was any judge. After Arthur had removed his bag and had greeted him again, Alfred had promptly taken the invitation and sat down next to him, happily chattering away. The class had given them a rather weird look – Alfred was rather loved by the class, and whereas Arthur was by no means unpopular, it was also common knowledge that Arthur didn’t _really_ like the class in return. Not enough for friendly, casual chitchat anyhow.

So the sight must have been something, he reasoned.

Skipping his social studies class in favour of getting some fresh air and smoking a cig, Arthur leant against the wall outside of the cafeteria. He had to figure out how to work around this though – even if Alfred had a stupid crush on him he had to be careful. Whilst he didn’t really care what happened to Alfred afterwards, Arthur didn’t really want the wrath of the school after him either for hurting their favourite twelfth grader’s feelings.

But by the gods was Alfred naïve. He hadn’t even seem weirded out, that all of a sudden, Arthur had taken an interest in him. He instead just happily blabbered away about the project they were going to have to prepare for in that class and about the upcoming football match. Or _rugby,_ but Arthur had to remind himself he was in bloody America.

And he knew the twins had been on school before Arthur had been, but he just couldn’t remember, aside from often being annoyed by the overly enthusiastic or the jock behaviour Alfred sometimes displayed. He had ignored them both. Well, ignored Alfred, because he _really_ couldn’t remember ever seeing his brother.

He was really cute too apparently, according to Gilbert and Francis, but it was lost on him.

“Dude!” Speak of the devil. He turned around slightly to see Alfred exit the cafeteria with a drink in hand. He was given one of Alfred’s famous bright smiles, and briefly wondered why the other was always so obnoxiously happy. “Dude,” he repeated again, looking down at Arthur’s hand. “You shouldn’t smoke, it’s bad for you.”

Arthur wanted to snap to him about calling him dude of all things, but resisted, instead looking down at the cigarette again. As if to made a point he raised it to his lips and took a long drag, staring the other in the eyes as he exhaled. “Is that right?”

Alfred took the response as an invitation and leant on the wall opposite of Arthur. “Yeah, you can get cancer and stuff.”

“Actually,” Arthur started, raising the corners of his lips in a smirk. “Smoking does not cause cancer. It enhances and activates the cancer cells you already have.”

“Oh.” Alfred replied smartly, frowning a little. “I didn’t know that. Guess I just believed what they always say on the covers, huh?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover. But it _is_ bad. It just doesn’t _cause_ cancer.” He didn’t know why he added the last part, but he didn’t really want to be responsible for the other boy to take on smoking because Arthur was doing it or something. “Free period?”

“Yup! You?”

“No.” Arthur almost burst out in laughter at the sudden look of horror and disapproval on the other boy’s face. He had probably never even skipped a class before, the goody shoes.

“You’re skipping? Won’t you get in trouble?”

“I haven’t gotten in trouble yet.” Alfred frowned still, but nodded, before receiving a message if the loud beep of his phone was any indicator. Smiling sheepishly, he extracted his phone and read it before typing away his response.

Arthur took the moment to study the other a bit. He was dressed plainly, just jeans with a shirt and an outdated leather jacket. A bomber jacket, if Arthur was correct, and it reminded him of the ones soldiers would wear during the World Wars. Perhaps a gift from his grandfather or something, then.

His jock appearance was ruined by his unruly hair, one strand of hair defiantly sticking up from the rest, and the glasses resting on his nose. Though, Arthur had to admit, the glasses fit the other boy. It gave him a more grown-up look. Without it Arthur could imagine the other having some kind of babyish face.

And he was rather fit, Arthur noted appreciatively. He wasn’t a fan of their football team and the idiots on it, but he could appreciate muscles when he saw them. On boys then, on girls he rather liked soft curves, but whatever. Inevitably, his mind went down the gutter as he imagined the muscular boy in swimming shorts, and of course, Alfred took that moment to pocket his phone and look right back up to him.

Knowing his face was probably redder than usual because he had been caught thinking inappropriate things, Arthur cleared his throat. He diverted his gaze and hastily took another drag of his cigarette.

“So, you’re buddies with Gilbert, right?”

The question kind of caught him of guard. Arthur nodded slowly – if Gilbert messed up his plan for him, oh man, then Arthur was going to force at least five of his scones down the potato-fucker’s throat. “Why?”

Alfred laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Oh well, it's stupid… my little brother is kinda hanging out with him, and I'm… I don't know. Protective or something. Man, that sounds lame."

"I thought you had a twin brother."

"Yeah, but I'm totally older by five minutes. And he’s kinda the lone ranger of the family, so as his big bro it’s my duty to kinda look out for him. Because I’m obviously not a lone ranger.” Oh god, Arthur realized the other was rambling. That was rather adorable, if not embarrassing. “He kinda came out of the closet a few weeks ago and now this German guy suddenly is all over him, and… yeah… sorry.” Alfred seemed to realize he had been rambling as well, a red hue spreading over his cheeks.

Arthur offered a sly grin. “You want to know if Gilbert is trouble or not?” Alfred nodded. Arthur remembered he did promise Gilbert that he wasn’t going to stand in the way of him and the other boy, so he had to pick his words carefully. “Well, I cannot tell you that he is not trying to get into your brother’s pants. But if he does anything wrong I can smack him around, he usually listens to me if I threaten him enough.”

His offer made Alfred laugh a little eventually, and Arthur watched in bewilderment with how carefree it looked. Besides, what he said wasn’t even funny.

“Nah, but thanks man. I just want to warn Mattie about him, y’know. Assure him I’ll kick his ass when he gets hurt and stuff. Besides I think Mattie doesn’t even like him.”

Arthur doubted that – if Gilbert set his mind to something, he usually succeeded. If he were to believe the rumours, Gilbert even managed a threesome with the Austrian/Hungarian couple at their school. But he nodded anyway, not sharing that bit of information. “So he’s gay, huh?” He casually inquired, finishing his cigarette, putting it out on the small ashtray slash trashcan next to him and throwing it away.

“Yeah. Or bi. He doesn’t really know? He had this huge crush on this Cuban dude once on vacation, but he’s not denying that Ivan’s sister looks hot too. The older one. The younger one is, like, a total creep. Hot, but psychotic as hell.”

Well, he was right about that. Natalya was not a girl Arthur liked to associate himself with either. She had an unhealthy fascination with her brother, bordering on worship or whatever. Sofia on the other hand was a kind-hearted girl, one year below them.

“I didn’t figure you as a breast-man,” Arthur continued. This would be brilliant, the conversation was going exactly where Arthur wanted it to go. As if on cue, the red hue on Alfred’s cheeks returned and Arthur knew he had him.

“Eh… not really. I’m not any kind of man I guess?”

He could’ve just admitted he was into guys, Arthur thought.

“Women not your area of expertise?” Arthur continued innocently, though maintaining eye contact with the other. Alfred broke their gaze though, looking sideways as he rubbed the back of his neck again, blush deepening. “Not that it’s any of my business, I apologize.” There. Cherry on the top.

“No that’s okay. I never thought about it I guess? Though I sure get pressured into getting a girlfriend or whatever.”

“Is that so? Anyone in particular in mind?” Shaking his head, Arthur wanted to release a sigh of relief. A girlfriend or girlfriend-to-be would have made this a bitch to clear up.

“… And you?” Alfred asked carefully. Bingo, if the ever-present red hue on his cheeks was any indicator of what Alfred was thinking, than this was so going in the right direction. It was almost hilarious.

“Not yet.” He said with a smirk, and purposefully let his eyes drag over Alfred’s boy, top to toe. Even to the naïve American it had to be clear what Arthur was saying, and he was proven correct when Alfred’s blush deepened even further. The boy stuttered an ‘okay’ and looked away quickly, hiding his face a little in his bomber jacket.

That was rather adorable.

 _Ugh_.

Arthur itched for another cigarette, but he refused himself. He was not going to become a chain smoker, he didn’t have that much money to spend and he was definitely not going to steal, so he couldn’t afford it.

Sensing that the conversation was over and shouldn’t be forced from there on, Arthur checked the time. Their next period would begin soon, and if he was correct they shared it. Alfred wasn’t making any movements that implied he was leaving though, so he doubted that statement slightly. Deciding he’d see sooner or later, he picked up his bag and started walking towards the door when Alfred interrupted again.

“Are you going to the party this weekend?”

Party, party. Gilbert wasn’t throwing one, and he was pretty sure Antonio was spending the weekend with his Italian lover and his family. That would mean Mathias. Come to think of it, Mathias had send him a message about having to show up this Saturday at his place. “Might as well.” He replied, turning around.

Alfred smiled brightly again, and Arthur felt strangely warm for a second before squishing it down. “Cool! Well, I’ll see you there then. Oh wait, we share our next class, right?”

“French?”

“Yeah! Wait, I’ve never really seen you there though?” He had skipped in front of Arthur and had _actually_ _held open the door_. Arthur felt slightly embarrassed, but no one was around to see them, so he quickly entered.

 _“Oui, je suis couramment en Française.”_ If Francis would hear this, he was going to have a field day. It was worth the look on Alfred’s face though and Arthur smirked. “I am already fluent in French, so I often skip it.”

“That’s so cool! I wish I was fluent in another language. Mattie also speaks French, but he was raised in Canada so yeah.” Arthur halted, confusion on his expression. Matthew was raised in Canada? He thought the two of them were twins, right? “So I thought ‘I’m gonna learn French!’ and then we can totally have secret conversations in front of my parents.”

“You lost me.” Arthur said, catching up to the other who hadn’t noticed Arthur’s falter. “Were you raised separately?”

Alfred offered a lopsided grin, shrugging. “Yeah, long story.”

Arthur was all for hearing it, but they had already reached the classroom. And much to his annoyance, Alfred headed straight to set of tables that was already occupied by one other person – an Asian looking kid that Arthur hadn’t met before. He frowned but slid into the desk next to Francis anyway, kicking away Francis’ feet in his space.

Francis looked up from his phone and squinted his eyes in delight. “ _Mais, mon chèr!_ I thought you always skipped French. Has the language of _l’amour_ finally  enraptured you?”

“ _Tais-toi_.” Arthur drawled, dragging out the syllables in an amateurish way and with as much of a British accent as he was able to. Francis scowled at him for the misuse of his own language, before nodding back to where Alfred was still enthusiastically talking to his friend, gesturing his hand wildly too. Arthur faintly heard it was about a new movie, but he didn’t care which one.

“Or are you here simply to impress?”

“You could say that.” Arthur mumbled, turning away from Alfred again and facing Francis instead. “You’re going to Mathias’ party with me this Saturday, pick me up at eight.”

“So demanding! But _oui,_ it’s a date. Does my love need to be home by midnight?”

“I don’t know why I still hang out with you, Rapunzel.”

Francis laughed at that, swinging his hair over his shoulder to be true to the insult. “You are jealous. If only you would let me do something about that tacky hair of yours! You have such potential, _ma biche,_ why must you insist on being such a caterpillar?”

Eventually the teacher walked in and had to break the duo up, Arthur angrily pulling on Francis’ hair and Francis wailing in French whilst giggling as well. Arthur knew that Francis knew that Arthur wouldn’t actually hurt him over something like that, but Arthur damn well could threaten him. Their class was much more amused by their argument than the teacher though, who clapped her hands angrily.

She told them that if they couldn’t resolve their lovers quarrel peacefully that they could take it up with the headmaster, to which Arthur grumbled angrily and released the other’s hair, sitting back in his chair. Francis made a kissy face to him before actually retrieving a bloody _hair comb_ out of his bag and combing his hair gingerly.

The rest was called back to order and the class began, the teacher droning on in French and the half of the class not understanding a word she said. Francis leant forward to pocket his hair comb again, nudging Arthur’s leg.

“I thought you wanted to know that Alfred looked _très_ sad when _Madame_ implied us being lovers.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, turning around slightly to look at the boy in question. Alfred was dryly staring at his book, face scrunched in a way that told Arthur that Alfred had no idea what the teacher was saying at the moment. He looked up and instead of looking at the board, he noticed Arthur looking at him.

Alfred offered an unsure smile and Arthur had to refrain from laughing hysterically when he realized Francis was right. Deciding on calming the boy’s nerves, he offered one of his own million-dollar smiles – one that he knew always made even Francis’ little sister, who hated his guts for some reason, melt – and gleefully watched as tension bled out of Alfred’s shoulders.

Francis snickered next to him. “You are terrible.”

Not dignifying that with a response, Arthur slowly dragged his eyes from the other boy deliberately, turning back to his friend. “Gilbert was right, by the way. Matthew is gay or whatever.”

“That much was obvious. Poor boy, Gilbert will destroy him.”

“I’ve never even seen the bloke, is he even on this school?”

The teacher glared at them for talking, but despite that she also knew that Arthur and Francis were most likely to just ace their exams without doing much at all. Arthur at least learned the language, Francis was just a lazy ass who decided taking French as a foreign language to get an easy credit.

“ _Oui_ , but he is a junior.”

“A junior? But Alfred’s in our year, they’re twins right?”

Francis looked a little exasperated, as if all of this were common knowledge. Well, it wasn’t Arthur’s fault that he wasn’t a complete gossip like his friend.

“ _Oui,_ but Alfred has skipped a year.”

 _That_ did surprise Arthur. “You’re shitting me. How?”

“I don’t know – perhaps he has a brain underneath all that muscle. Why do you expect me to know, I am as much friends with him as you are!” Francis accused.

“You don’t fool me Francis, you know everything about everyone, you woman.” Francis made a scandalized face.

The rest of the day passed quietly. He shared no more classes with Alfred, instead a few with Francis and Gilbert. Gilbert had been positively delighted with the earlier information Arthur got from Alfred, crowing about how lucky he was and how he now definitely was going to the party as well. Arthur wasn’t even sure if Matthew was coming, but he wasn’t about to rain on Gilbert’s parade.

Arthur leant against Francis’ car, waiting for his friend to show up from his last class. Usually when they were out at the same time, Arthur hitched a ride with the other. He really wished he could get his own driver’s license and car, but he didn't have the money and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask his parents for help. Francis wasn’t about to let the ‘disastrous Brit’ drive in his car either, but Arthur didn’t take offense to that.

Besides, they experienced enough embarrassing stuff together for Arthur to blackmail the Frenchman into being his chauffeur if possible. The car next to him, one so very typical American what with the open roof and all, beeped and he watched in curiosity for its owner.

 _Of course,_ he could have expected the typical American car belong to the only typical American he really knew. He wondered if he had always had this much run-ins with the boy, but had never noticed before. It seems a twisted turn of fate if he only now suddenly started seeing him everywhere.

“Artie!” Alfred said warmly, and he was followed by another person. Arthur faltered for a moment - but that person looked _a lot_ like Alfred indeed. His hair was longer, and he was less muscular, but their contours and atmosphere’s were very much the same. He also wore glasses, but his eyes were a different shade of blue, almost appearing purplish instead. He did appear a lot more calm and quiet than the loudmouthed boy in front of Arthur, however.

“It’s Arthur, you git.” _No one,_ not even Alfred who he was willing to break a few rules for in favour of executing his plan, could call him _Artie_. “You are everywhere, aren’t you?”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

“Never mind.” Arthur knew that it wasn’t as if Alfred was timing his exits and entrances to coincide with Arthur’s, and that either it had to be that twisted turn of fate, or just entirely coincidental. Probably the latter.

“Oh! This is my brother. Mattie, this is Arthur.”

“We’ve met.” Matthew said softly, walking over to the other door of the car. Arthur frowned.

“We have?” Realizing that that sounded rather rude, Arthur cleared his throat and quickly continued. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

It caused a soft smile to appear on Matthew’s face, starkly in contrast with Alfred’s wide ones. “I get that a lot. You’re friends with Gilbert, right?” At the other boy’s name, Arthur humorously noticed Alfred grimacing. “We met at one of his parties.”

“Then dear Arthur was probably too wasted to remember anything.” Francis drawled, draping himself over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur wanted to shove the other off – they were usually never very high on physical contact, before realizing Francis was smirking at Alfred, who seemed a little off again. And Francis said that Arthur was terrible. Still, he couldn’t help but play along – teasing and playing dirty were a few of his favourite things after all. “ _Bonjour, Mathieu! Ça va?”_

Matthew and Francis exchanged idle French chit chat, before Francis dislodged from Arthur and walked over to his side of the car, unlocking it. Alfred looked over to Arthur, a hesitant smile on his face and Arthur could almost smell how nervous the other was.

“You need a ride?” He asked eventually, and Arthur’s eyebrows shot up slightly. The boy sure did have balls.

Behind him, Francis jeered. “Arthur, my mum wants to know if you plan on staying over tonight!”

 _God damn it,_ Arthur glared at Francis as he saw Alfred’s face fall again. It was fun, but now it was just getting sad. For some reason he liked it better when Alfred smiled too, so Arthur loudly told Francis off.

“I’m not going with you to your house, frog, stop insinuating that I want something to do with you.”

“My heart is shattered in a thousand pieces!” Francis dramatically threw open his door and entered the car. Relieved, Arthur noticed Alfred’s face changing instantly.

“Oh, you’re not…?”

Arthur couldn’t help but appreciate how blunt and not embarrassed the other boy was. Matthew was watching their exchange with barely hidden interest while Alfred was basically asking if he was free for the taking.

“God, no.” Arthur simply replied. Alfred was blushing again, nodding at him, before Matthew said something about being late to a game or something.

“Right! Okay. Yeah. Eh, see you later, Artie- Arthur. Sorry. Yeah. Okay, bye!” Arthur heard Alfred mutter under his breath ( _stop talking stop talking)_ , chose to ignore it and bid his own goodbye, entering Francis’ car.

Francis was leaning on the wheel with a wide smile, staring lewdly at him.

“What?” Arthur snapped, when Francis made no moves of starting the car. Alfred had already pulled out and left, yet they were still standing still.

“Are you developing your own little crush after all?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

The other boy shrugged, starting the car and looking over his shoulder as he pulled out of his parking space. “He is coming to the party, _non?_ Are you planning on getting wasted and throwing yourself on the boy?”

“How dare- I have a little more tact than that, thank you very much. I’m not a wanton whore like _some_.”

Ignoring the jab, Francis tutted as he pulled out of the lot entirely onto the road. “So what, you plan to read him poetry? _Mon dieu,_  Arthur, you are not hard to look at but you can be so stuffy. It does not matter what happens, as long as your stepfather believes you are gay, _non_? Just get it over with.”

“Get your mind of the gutter.”

“You are _such_ a virgin sometimes!”

Arthur promptly turned away from the Frenchman and settled on ignoring him, focusing on the road instead. They both very well knew – Francis knew by first-hand actually – that Arthur was very much not a virgin. But unlike the people he hung out with, Arthur did not brag about it, and was not controlled by his hormonal tendencies.

After he was dropped home, Arthur was relieved to see it was only his little brother that was also home. Though that did mean Peter was skipping his extracurricular activities, but he could hardly blame the younger boy. That would be hypocritical.

“I’m sick.” Peter still defended. He didn’t look very sick, sprawled over the couch while playing something on his Nintendo.

“I don’t care.” Arthur replied, heading towards the kitchen to grab a snack. Peter and he used to have a somewhat good relationship, Arthur relishing in being an older brother and playing with the younger boy. It had lessened when Arthur reached puberty, and then skyrocketed down when they moved to America, even though they both disliked their stepfather.

Peter was still just such a tattletale and a suck-up to their mother, it was annoying. He re-entered the living room, snack in hand, sitting down on one of the chairs. At least they were able to enjoy silences together – if his parents had been home, Arthur would have disappeared to his room, but if only Peter were there he could relax in the living room.

Playing with the stud in his tongue, he zapped through channels before settling on some documentary about prairie dogs. Nothing was ever interesting on the telly on a Friday afternoon after all, but he enjoyed the documentary’s Brit’s way of explaining and his sass, so it would do.

Peter made a disgusted noise when he apparently lost his game, his gaze wandering over to the television. “Wy wants me to get an eyebrow piercing.”

“There are two things wrong with that,” Arthur eventually replied. “Wy is not a name, it is a micro nation. And if you do that, you’ll look ridiculous.”

Peter stuck out his tongue and glared. “Shut up, she doesn’t like her name. And you have piercings!” His eyes dropped to the ball sticking out of Arthur’s mouth as he had been playing with it. Arthur retracted his tongue piercing and glowered down at the boy. “Raivis said it would look cool.”

“Raivis is lying to you. And no piercer in his right mind would do it, you’re a bloody kid.”

“Seb would do it! And you’re not the boss of me!”

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. He was trying to give honest advice here, but it seems the other wasn’t having it. Whatever, no way was he ever getting something pierced. Peter was a big cry-baby when it came to pain, mum still had to hold his hand when he had to get his flu-shots and all. He decided to tease on that a little.

“You do know that means getting a giant needle stuck in your face right? Not to mention the possible infections. You could lose your eye.”

It worked, Peter winced and his expression turned a little queasy. “What, really?”

“Yeah, google it. An infection could cause blindness. It isn’t pretty.” He did google it on his phone actually, the twat. Arthur snickered at the gasp he heard before Peter shouted that he hated him and ran off to his room.

He was bored by the documentary fairly quickly, once it shifted to people keeping the poor animals as pets. Grabbing his phone he idly scrolled through some messages from his mum about being home late and that they should order in, from Antonio asking if he wanted to go for drinks later, and Mathias excited emoticon text when he had confirmed to come to the party.

Facebook wasn’t very eventful either, though on one of Gilbert’s statuses Matthew had replied and that had made him think. Typing Alfred’s name in the search bar, he was offered an entire list of them but it was fairly easy to see who was the right one because of mutual friends. Scoffing that _of course_ it would be Alfred _F._ Jones instead of just Alfred Jones, and that _of course_ Alfred had the most ridiculous, happy profile picture ever, he scrolled through the account. It wasn’t very private, mostly because he could see posts through mutual friends.

There were _a lot_ of pictures. Ironically of beach parties too, confirming Arthur’s earlier suspicions about the boy. Pictures of him and Matthew doing stuff, pictures of places he went, of cats whom he expected were his pets. Oh Jesus, there were a _lot_ of cat pictures.

Still, he couldn’t help the grin forming on his face. Alfred was so unlike him and the people he hung out with, it almost hurt but it was also immensely funny and somehow refreshing. He was apparently an avid cinema-goer to, if all the check-ins at the local cinema were any indicator. Arthur didn’t even know what a Deadpool was, but Alfred was all sorts of hot for it apparently.

Shutting his phone and returning his attention to the television, Arthur steadfastly told himself that sending a friend request had purely been because he wanted to get on with his plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tais-toi – shut up
> 
> Seb is Seborga, I could not think of a name lol.
> 
> I used Deadpool because I too am all sorts of hot for him, leave me lol


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur wasn’t a very sociable person, and he doubted that he was very likeable either. Fortunately he did have a few people he considered friends. There was of course Francis, insufferable as he was he was probably Arthur’s best friend. There was Gilbert and Antonio, who kind of came with the package of befriending Francis. Antonio’s boyfriend, Lovino, though kind of a wimp at times was pleasant to hang out with, as they could bond over their mutual dislike of people in general.

He had met a kid that works in the library that originated from Romania who was pleasant to hang out with if Arthur ever spend a free period in the library.

Then there was the group that stupidly called themselves the Nordics that he met via Lukas, a boy from Norway that he had once worked with on a project in his history classes. They had bonded over more things after that, such as their love of mythical creatures, and eventually Lukas came with the overzealous Mathias and the stoic Berwald, who in turn came with his bubbly boyfriend Tino.

Tino was kind in a not-annoying way, acted like a mom of the group without getting on anyone’s nerves. He didn’t know how he did it, but whenever Tino would claim Arthur didn’t look well and would put his hand on his forehead, Arthur allowed it with merely a grumble. That could have something to do with the sheer, intimidating size of his boyfriend, but Arthur thought it was probably because Tino was just very friendly.

And he supposed that Scandinavians sticking together was no stranger than the Asian population sticking together, as well as Arthur’s usual group being Europeans.

Furthermore he considered Gilbert’s family somewhat friendly. He wasn’t really friends with Ludwig, but Roderich and his Hungarian girlfriend were neat people that somehow didn’t mind to associate themselves with the likes of people like Arthur or Gilbert. They never partied along though, already acting like some married couple.

There were more than enough people that he absolutely didn’t like on his school, either. For one, the psychotic, Russian girl he had talked about with Alfred earlier gave pretty much everyone the creeps. Her brother was always staring creepily at him whenever they met in the hallways, and Arthur wondered if he had ever done something to the guy or if he was usually like that. There was a guy from Switzerland who he was on icy ground with. Apparently Arthur and Francis once bullied his little sister or something, though he couldn’t remember. Francis reminded him that he had been drunk and well, that could very well be the case.

He sipped the bottle with red stuff that Mathias had shoved into his hand upon arrival, head swimming with how many people from different nationalities he knew. It sure made for an impressive story, coming from an international school. First he had categorized people by continents, but after a few months and meeting more and more people from countries he hadn’t even known existed, he paid more attention.

“Arthur!” He was approached by a happy looking Tino. No Berwald in sight, that meant Arthur could feel slightly less tense. Tino had said that it was just his face, but Berwald was always glaring. That and being freakishly tall made for quite the sight.

“Hey Tino. How are you?”

“Good. Though Emil passed out a few minutes ago. Be’s putting him to bed. And I wish Matias would stop changing the music all the time.” True, that was quite annoying. He was currently running around with the remote of his music installation, cackling as Lukas angrily followed him in hopes of snatching the damned thing away from him. “You are well?”

“Yeah, fine, thanks.”

“Good! I was actually looking for Eduard.”

“Haven’t seen him.”

With that Tino said his goodbyes and continued searching. Out of the corner of his eyes Arthur saw Francis and some other guy putting something in bowl of punch on the table, and he rolled his eyes at the duo. He would pretend that he didn’t see it but, but he was definitely staying clear from the punch. You never know.

The music stabilized and he saw that Mathias had been tripped on the ground by a pissed-off Lukas, the two of them shouting at each other in Danish or whatever, though Mathias seemed very jovial about it. People usually ignored them when they were at it. He wasn’t sure what it was between them, whether or not they were dating, but they sure as hell slept together and were constantly in each other’s presence.

Figuring he might as well go and sit down for the moment, Arthur was swept into a hallway as he passed it by an irritated looking Gilbert.

“Arthur, man, be awesome and help me.”

“What do you want?” He wrung his elbow free from the other man’s grasp, scowling as Gilbert picked the bottle of booze out of his hand and took a few gulps himself before returning it.

“You need to get your boytoy away from mine. I can’t sweep Matthew of his feet all awesomely with that Yankee glaring at me!”

Arthur grinned widely. Leave it to Alfred to keep Gilbert at bay. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know, distract Jones or something. Isn't that part of your plan?"

"Plan?" Tino quipped curiously, apparently having found Eduard and dragging him through the room. "Oh! Do you plan on going out with Alfred? You'd be such a cute couple!" He went completely ignored though, and Arthur glared heatedly at the guy in front of him.

"Fight your own battles."

"I  _could._ I'd just tell Alfred your plan and-"

"All right! Fine. Bloody hell." Arthur interrupted quickly, standing up. Tino shrugged and moved on with his friend while Arthur entered the living room again, eyes scanning the crowd. He wondered if all these people were even from his school, because he recognized only a quarter of them. He _had_ seen the American before, and Alfred had definitely looked as if he wanted Arthur to come over and talk, but Arthur wasn’t that easy to get so he had promptly walked over to his friends first. “You totally owe me though.”

“As if you were not going to talk to him already. You drive a bad bargain.”

“Take it or leave it.” Gilbert groaned, nodding consent and disappearing into the crowd again. He himself spotted the twin brothers standing nearby the punch, and he could see the fun in waiting to see what happened if they drank it, but decided they didn’t deserve whatever Francis had in store for the people here.

Walking over swiftly, he grabbed hold of Alfred’s hand as it reached out to pour himself a drink. “Trust me, don’t.” he said, standing perhaps a little closer than necessary. Alfred whirled around as if he had been touched by fire, realizing who was next to him and immediately blushing lightly. At Matthew’s confused frown, Arthur nodded to the punch. “Francis put something in it, and you should never trust a Frenchman.”

Alfred had composed himself in the meantime, though looking down at Arthur’s hand holding his arm as if it were some miracle. Arthur squeezed for extra effect and Alfred whipped his head back up, showing a wide, nervous smile.

“Dude, you totally saved me there. Whatever is in there is probably not going to make me very heroic.”

“Why would you want to be heroic?” Arthur asked, confused by that answer. Alfred grinned more confidently.

“Because! Someone needs to keep an eye out, y’know? Mathias’ parties are _wild,_ man, someone could get in over his head.”

Arthur released his hold on the other boy’s arm, remembering he was still holding the bottle of some kind of vodka in his hand. Making a point to stare at the other, he took a long gulp from it and swallowed slowly, pleased when he saw Alfred’s eyes on his throat for just a split second.

“So you don’t drink?” Arthur said as he lowered the bottle again. Alfred shifted uncomfortably, sticking his hands in his pockets. It looked a little ridiculous what with how tall Alfred was, but it was slightly endearing.

“Not really. Don’t really like the stuff.”

Matthew behind them chuckled and Alfred turned a little so that he came into view. “That’s bullshit Al, you swear by beer whenever we go to a game.”

“That’s during a game! And that’s just beer, that’s hardly anything big. Jeeze Mattie, tattletale.”

Remembering why he was here in the first place, Arthur reached out to brush his hand across Alfred’s elbow. He wasn’t sure if he felt it through the bomber jacket he was wearing, but Alfred jerked back around so he got his answer.

“Come with me.” Arthur simply said, eyes fluttering as he bit on his lip a little. It did the trick, because Alfred helplessly nodded and allowed himself to be tugged along to one of the hallways again.

He probably drank a bit too much already, he thought, as he tripped over the doorstep from living room to the hallway. His arms were instantly grabbed by Alfred’s hand however, and Arthur was mesmerized by how they felt huge – or did he just have tiny arms? – and whatever, he was just glad he didn’t fall flat on his face in front of everyone.

“Drank too much already?” Alfred joked, straightening the boy. They moved out of the threshold when other people wanted to pass, and Arthur instead leant against the wall of the hallway, looking at the other boy.

“I can hold my liquor just fine, thank you.” He replied, slightly annoyed. He knew he was a light-weight, but it would take more than just one measly bottle to really do something bad to him. He passed the bottle on to the boy in front of him, smirking.

“What is it?” Alfred inquired, holding it up so that he could look at the label. “Vodka? That’s awful stuff.” Arthur wanted to quip something about how it wouldn’t taste so horrible inside of his own mouth but decided against it, because he was not _that_ corny. Despite what he said, Alfred took a swig of it anyway, making a face as he swallowed. “Yeah, no. Definitely not my thing.”

He didn’t return it to Arthur though, Arthur noticed with amusement. Perhaps the boy wanted something to soften his nerves a little. He patted arounds his pockets and extracted his pack of cigarettes, putting one between his lips.

"You should really stop smoking. It smells awful, y'know."

“Is that your way of saying I smell bad?” Arthur teased, putting the cig back in the packet regardless. Alfred coughed in his next gulp of vodka.

“No! No I didn’t mean that, I meant the smoke just isn’t- you know, pleasant or stuff. No, you smell just fine- no wait that sounds weird, I didn’t mean that you smelled bad or good, though I’m sure you smell good, and please make me stop talking.”

At the stammering and rambling, Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. Alfred admitting that he was rambling in and actually hiding the lower part of his face behind his hand just made it so much more amusing, and Arthur’s eyes squinted with delight. At least Alfred could be fun, he reasoned.

Alfred was blushing, Arthur could see it even though it was dark. He felt like giggling, but protected his pride by not doing so. He was about to mentally debate the pros and cons of pride, when he missed the table he wanted to casually lean on and surged forward into the other.

Now it was Alfred’s turn to laugh, pushing the other straight again. “Are you sure you didn’t already have enough? Or is it just me you fall for so often?”

 _Was he bloody flirting?_ Where in the world did that come from? One moment Alfred was stammering and making a fool of himself, and now he was suddenly smoothly making pick-up lines? This boy was going to be the death of him. Alfred mistook Arthur’s stunned silence for something else though.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“Idiot,” Arthur said, albeit more fond than he would care to admit. “Perhaps I should be honest with you when I tell you I lured you away so that Gilbert could try and tap Matthew.”

Alfred’s face showed a mixture of emotions in the span of a few seconds, amusement, to anger, to disappointment, to amusement again and eventually to acceptance. Still, he took another big gulp from the bottle, and coughed.

“I should’ve known, that bastard has been circling him all night. Oh well, I think Mattie doesn’t mind.” Arthur thought that what he did was kind of shit move, but apparently Alfred didn’t. That surprised him slightly, but when Alfred went to take another sip of the stuff he apparently hated, he reached out and grabbed the bottle from him.

“I think _you_ had enough.”

“Okay, _mom_.”

“Wanker.” Arthur muttered, forcing himself to give a little glare. It didn’t do anything to the other this time though, a smile stuck on Alfred’s face as Arthur put the bottle down on a table nearby. “Have I given you my mobile number yet?” He was fully aware he hadn’t, but Alfred’s face brightened.

"Here, gimme your phone, dude. "

"It's 'give me', not gimme,  _dude._ "

Alfred laughed. He gave his phone all the same, already open on the contacts folder, and let the other tick his number in. He called his own cell, waiting till it rang before ending the call and handing Arthur his phone back.

Looking at it, Arthur noticed that Alfred had put himself under ‘The Hero! :D’. _Seriously?_

“Do you always give nicknames to your contacts?” Arthur said, resisting the urge to correct it. He could do it later, when Alfred wasn’t watching.

“Yeah, I’m totally putting you under Iggy.” At Arthur’s raised eyebrows, he continued. “You’re from England right? I watch this anime where they always call this person England, but it sounds like Igirasu, and well, they nickname him Iggy, and… it’s pretty lame, I know.”

Of course Alfred was the type to watch anime. Though Arthur begrudgingly admitted to have read manga in the past too, having outgrown it. “Put me under whatever you want.” He eventually said, because he hardly cared about something as trivial as that.

They were interrupted as Mathias and Lukas bumped into them. Arthur glared, telling them off and calling them wankers.

"I won't be the one wanking tonight! Ouch, baby, don't hit me!" Mathias had a reluctant Lukas trapped in his arms, dragging him down the hall and up the stairs. "Dude, Jones, get that stick out of Arthur’s ass tonight will ya!”

"Shut the bloody hell up, you twat!" Arthur replied, even though nothing was said to him. He took some pleasure in the fact Alfred turned red-faced, but had otherwise ignored the Dane.

The Americans hands had in fact found their way on Arthur’s arms again, seeing as the collision with the other duo had caused Arthur to stumble sideways again. He could get used to this – he knew that sometimes his feet got the better of him when drunk, and if someone were to always catch him that would sure save him some bruises or awkwardness.

Though it could provide other awkwardness. Shaking his mind from that train of thought, Arthur flashed the boy a charming grin. He wondered if he could afford it already to just grab him and snog the daylights out of him. Alfred didn’t seem very against the idea, if his blush and expectant look in his eyes had anything to say about it.

“Are you gay?” Arthur decided on asking boldly. He was already sure that the other was at least bisexual, but he just went and asked him anyway. The whole ordeal would be so much easier. Alfred gave him a frown and he rolled his eyes, nodding down to where Alfred was still holding him.

“W-What?” Alfred did splutter at this, and blushed, releasing the other quickly. Arthur smirked as Alfred's eyes involuntarily went down towards where Arthur playfully wiggled his hips. “I-I-I don't… I mean, eh, I don't know.” He cleared his throat. “I'm not anything, I guess.”

“You're asexual? That's an anti-climax.”

“No! I mean, I guess I just… I don't know, love is love, right? Gender doesn't matter. Hell, are you drunk or something?”

“Just because I unnerve you, doesn’t mean I am drunk.” Arthur laughed, relishing in how red Alfred’s face was. “How about you get me another drink, though?”

He decided that he had given the boy enough trouble for the evening, not wanting to push it. They spend another half an hour together before Arthur was whisked away by Francis, leaving a disappointed looking Alfred in his wake. It was kind of funny that Alfred appeared to be jealous of Francis, but Arthur ignored the matter for the night.

He didn’t see the boy until the end of the night, and now he was definitely drunk. He was sitting on a couch and loudly arguing with some Australian kid about why England was so much better than Australia. His accent probably made it impossible for some of the words to be understandable, but he hardly cared.

The argument of Hugh Jackman came up, the kid saying that Arthur could not possibly have anything to bring in against that, but oh boy, Arthur was just starting. He had a whole list of British actors and performers that would trump any other fool. Sitting up straight, he had started with his ‘now you listen here,’ when someone gently tapped his shoulder.

“Alfred! Good, you’re here. This wanker is insinuating that Hugh Jackman is actually a better actor than _Alan Rickman._ Alan fucking Rickman, may his soul rest in peace, can you believe this?”

Alfred laughed a little, shaking his head. The Australian kid had already turned around to strike up conversation with another person on the large couch, so Arthur focused his attention on the American who knelt in front of him.

“Artie, Francis went home with some girl, and he asked me to take you home. You ready?”

“What? I don’t want to go yet.” True, people were leaving, either together or alone, and some people even plain passed out on chairs or couches. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the host of the party anymore either. Berwald was probably going to kick out everyone soon enough. “What about Matthew?”

“Pretty sure he has a place to stay.” Alfred said morosely, before helping Arthur up from the couch.

Arthur wanted to protest, but suddenly standing up had the room spinning for a moment, so instead he relented and leant against Alfred a little as he manoeuvred both of them out of the living room and into the hallway. “Damn, my coat is in that wanker’s car.” Arthur growled, refusing when Alfred instead offered him his own jacket.

He wrung the front door open, the fresh air doing wonders for his state and he sobered up a little.

"Bloody hell. The world is suddenly digital." For some reason, this was really funny to the other, and Alfred burst out into laughter, throwing his head back. Once at the car, Alfred unlocked it and held open the door for Arthur, bowing. "Your ride, good sir!"

Arthur scoffed. "This isn't the same car. Are you a car dealer?"

"This is my own car, I was driving my parent's car the other day because my baby was getting repairs." Alfred said with a warm smile as he patted the door of his car.  

Arthur's eyes twitched slightly. This car looked a lot cheaper and older, and it didn't have any kind of open roof. He never did understand a man's relationship with his car. It resembled a girl with her Barbie, somehow. Oh well, he wasn't supposed to judge, he didn't even own a bloody car.

Getting in the car despite his earlier protests, Arthur sighed in relief when the inside of the car was already notably warmer than outside. Noticing Arthur’s comfort, he half listened to Alfred’s explanation that he had already cranked up the heat in the car before he went to get Arthur.

Which was oddly considerate, but whatever. He had better things to worry about – such as the smell of leather of the car doing not so funny things to his stomach at the moment. He opened the window a tiny bit for some fresh air, instantly relieved by it.

They pulled out onto the street in silence, Alfred only turning to him again when stopping at a light at the end of the street. “I kinda need to know where you live though.”

“And here I thought you would take advantage of my state and take me to your place.” Arthur commented, though he hadn’t expected Alfred to look as panicked as he did.

“Dude, no, I would never, ever do something like that. I just want to take you home safely, promise!”

“Calm down, you twat. I was joking.” He offered his address, Alfred ticking it in on his phone which now also acted as a navigator for him. The female voice on it droned out directions next.

A somewhat comfortable silence followed, Alfred fumbling with the radio before Arthur commented that he didn't need to hear music, and after another nervous laugh and apology, Alfred just watched the road and Arthur leaned his face on the window.

“Why don't you have a girlfriend?” Arthur suddenly asked, genuinely interested for once. He didn't know why, but he'd figured that Alfred was kind of the ideal boyfriend. He'd held onto Arthur because he was wobbly, and was even taking him home despite hardly knowing each other.

If Arthur didn't knew better, he'd honestly thought Alfred was ahead of his own plan.

But yeah, anyway, Alfred would be every girl’s dream boy. He's obviously caring and protective, and while he's annoying, he's good natured and can be funny, as far as Arthur could tell.

Alfred shrugged. "Why should I?" Arthur noticed that Alfred had cast him a look during the short response, and smiled lightly. Oh, the idiot was so obvious. "Why do you ask?"

The question went completely ignored, and Alfred didn't seem to mind, mindlessly tapping his fingers on the wheel while waiting for a red light. Arthur blinked, he was getting kind of tired. He wondered how late it was, and if his parents went to bed already. Probably. Perhaps his mum was still up, she had a habit of going to bed later if Arthur wasn’t home yet.

“Did you see the new marvel movie? Deadpool?”

Arthur  _hated_ superhero movies. He disliked the cinema too – there were too many people, and the snacks were disgusting, and it smelled, and there were always stupid couples snogging each other's brains out too loudly.

"No."

Alfred immediately went into some kind of nerd-frenzy. “Really? You  _have_ to go. It's so awesome! It's pretty accurate with the comics too. Did you read the comics? No? Dude, you have to! Deadpool is so cool! Though Captain America is my fav in the marvel franchise. Have you seen the Avengers? No? Man, you’re missing out! I think I saw the Avengers in cinema for at least five times. Mark Ruffalo is such a badass Hulk. I can’t _wait_ for Civil War, it’s going to be so tragic!”

“You sure love your superheroes, don’t you?” Arthur interrupted before Alfred could go full-nerd mode.

Alfred immediately shut up and blushed. “Ah, no, I just meant to say it's awesome and you should go and see it. Sorry, I didn't mean to rant…”

Arthur sighed that eh kicked-puppy look the other was sporting. “I’m not that into superhero movies.”

“But then you’re going to love Deadpool. He’s not a superhero, more like an anti-hero.”

“I’ll think about it. Perhaps you should take me. Unless you don’t want to see it again.”

Alfred brightened immensely up at the offer, and Arthur wondered if he was even looking at the road with how he was grinning at him. “Totally! Deal! It’s going to blow your mind!”

He probably didn’t realize it, but he went into another rant about Deadpool and Ryan Reynolds and what more, Arthur tuning him out. He nodded occasionally so that Alfred would think he was listening, but really, he was just studying how Alfred’s face shifted in his enthusiasm from time to time. They arrived at Arthur’s house shortly after, Alfred closing his ramble with “so I’ll pick you up!”

Arthur scoffed as he exited the car, leaning on the car door a little to look back at the American. "And what, we're going for dinner too?"

"Sure! I'll text you later for details, good night!"

Baffled, Arthur closed the car door and Alfred waved before driving out of the street again.

Did that wanker transform this into a date without Arthur even knowing it?

It seems Alfred was more on track with Arthur’s plan than Arthur himself was. Cursing himself, he stuck his key in the front door and entered his house, pulling off his shoes in the hallway. All right, so Alfred made the first move. No big deal, he could still take over from there. But he had to admit the boy was kind of a storm waging over him, and he was left stunned more often than not. He had to get his act together.

His phone beeped.

_From: The Hero! :D  
2:30 AM _

_I totally forgot to wait until you got in the house. You inside?_

What a sentimental wanker. Arthur smiled and opted to send back a ‘thumbs-up’ emoticon and nothing else, to which he received about a dozen smiley emoticons back.

Nobody was awake, so before going to bed he went to the kitchen to smoke a cigarette. Opening the window he leant on the counter, telling himself that he wasn’t going through Alfred’s profile pictures for any reason other than trying to figure the boy out.


	4. Chapter 4

When Arthur woke up Monday morning, he reacquainted himself with the unfamiliar ceiling above him and the matrass he was lying on. He blinked a few times before he remembered why he was in Francis’ room, on his spare bed, instead of his own.

When Allistor had showed up in the house Sunday evening, uninvited but carrying enough luggage for a week, Arthur had almost immediately gotten into a fight with his older brother, starting with his ‘ _why the fuck are you here, wanker?’_ Allistor had been on edge from his flight, and hadn’t taken kindly to Arthur’s immediate roasting, and in no time the two were verbally thrashing each other. It ended with Allistor shoving Arthur to the side, Arthur losing his footing, head colliding with one of the tables in the hallway harshly.

Seeing that Arthur got up without major injuries, Allistor hadn’t even had the decency to look sorry, instead wandering to the living room to greet the rest. His mother fussed over him and brought him an ice-pack, not even scolding the bastard. Arthur had promptly grabbed his stuff and walked out, taking the bus to Francis’ house. He wasn’t even in the mood to try out his brother first, knowing that it was going to end as it usually did anyway.

“ _Sourcils,_ you missed first period. Wake up.” Francis announced as he came back into the room, with only a towel on. Arthur groaned, covering his face.

“I do _not_ need to wake up to your hairy bottom! Get dressed, you nudist!”

Francis tutted but after some shuffling assured the other that he was dressed. Arthur sighed and dragged himself out of the warm bed, flinching when his feet met the cold floor. _Why_ Francis’ family chose marble over carpet would always be beyond him.

“If you are planning to stay the entire week,” Francis began, sitting at his desk and beginning the process of prettying himself up a little. Arthur was at least pleasantly surprised that the man never used actual make-up. “We should grab some more of your clothes. That outfit you carelessly packed is _très horrible._ ”

Grumbling because the other went through his bag, Arthur picked up the neatly folded clothes on the other side of Francis’ desk. He had grabbed a simple, tight black jeans, and a shirt with the Rolling Stones’ logo on it, with a longer shirt for underneath. He admitted that it was kind of emo, but it wasn’t as if Arthur had a regular style or something.

“Please tell me you have antibacterial soap?” His piercing throbbed a little, and Arthur prided himself on always being careful as to avoid infections. He wasn’t an idiot, after all. Francis’ commented on how some was probably in the bathroom, so Arthur quickly freshened himself up there and dressed.

In the mirror he saw a big bruise and small swelling on his cheek, where his head had connected with the table the day before. Scowling and pushing at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, he was at least glad that the inside didn’t hurt. At least eating wouldn’t be a bitch, then.

He joined Francis at the breakfast table not soon after. Francis’ mother was still in the kitchen, baking pancakes – for some reason, the woman always had time in her busy schedule to make some elaborate breakfast for her children. Upon his arrival, Francis’ sister, Michelle stuck her tongue out at him.

Arthur never did figure out why the brat disliked him, but whatever.

“Oh, Arthur, your face!” Arthur sighed as Francis’ mom hurried over and started fussing over him as well, arranging her hair while at it. He hated it, but he wasn’t about to be disrespectful to the woman, so he endured it until she backed off again. “Let me grab you a salve I know for bruises.”

Instead of her hurrying off, Francis rolled something over the table. “I already got it, _maman.”_

Smiling appreciatively, the woman finished making breakfast for the children and grabbed her stuff, telling the kids to behave and that she’ll see them later. “Oh, Arthur, do you mind pot-au-feu for dinner?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”

“Not at all, you are one of us, _oui_? Have a good day at school!”

Once she left the house, he turned back to the pancake in front of him – a frowny face was on it with maple syrup. The culprit, Francis, snickered and decorated his own.  “I swear, my mum wishes you were her son for some reason. Look at you! You’d dirty the family name.”

“’s part of my British charm.” Arthur said around a mouthful, purposefully doing so that it would disgust the other. Michelle scoffed as well, muttering in French and seeming to forget that Arthur could understand every word. Eventually a car honked outside of the house and she left, her ride to school having arrived.

“Really now, just because your face is trashed doesn’t mean you have to look so ugly.” Francis said after they finished their breakfast, Francis putting away the trays and turning around to be met with Arthur’s angry face.

“I fucking hate that wanker.” Arthur said, knowing that Francis would know who he was referring to. “He moved to bloody Scotland and is still able to screw around with me whenever he wants.”

“You can hardly blame him for wanting to visit his family.” Francis began. “But I digress, he is a wanker.” The word sounded strange coming from the Frenchman, and apparently Francis thought so too, with how his face scrunched up a little.

Arthur buried his face in his hands. Out of his three brothers, he definitely hated Allistor the most. A close second was Seamus, because he so often teamed up with Allistor. From the moment he was born to the moment both of them moved out of his house, and even afterwards, they had made his life a living hell.

He was confident in saying that every broken bone he had ever had and every visit to the hospital he ever had to pay was because of them. Calling it rough-housing when Arthur called them out on it to his mother, and the wench actually believing them too. Eventually he stopped complaining to his mother about it, and then eventually stopped talking to his mother at all.

And the brats left Peter alone too, acting like doting big brothers occasionally to the pipsqueak. He wasn’t jealous or anything, but it irked him, because it meant that even Peter wouldn’t be on his team. Bless Dylan however, for trying to calm his older brothers now and then. He would distract them every now and then when Arthur was hiding in the closet, under the stairs or outside in the garden, making sure that he wasn’t about to be trashed again and again.

He couldn’t wait to graduate, and move out. Hopefully he could go to a college where he could live on campus, or finding a small, cheap apartment would be good too. Even better, moving back to England. Perhaps even stay with his granny there for a while, she was probably the only person in the Kirkland family he could stand.

They finished up and drove to school, the ride fairly short. Arthur lived closer to school than he did, but Francis went by car, so in the end he was faster if Arthur had to take the bus. At school they went their separate ways, not sharing any class until the last period, though Arthur was sure he’d see the other during lunch or whatever.

Entering his classroom and preparing for Algebra – which was definitely not his strongest class, simply because he often couldn’t wrap his mind around all the numbers and formula’s – Arthur sat down somewhere in the middle at the window. He had forgotten his book too. Usually he kept it in his locker, but he had taken it home last week to try and agonize over the homework, but now that he had been in a hurry to leave the house this weekend he had completely forgotten it. 

He could hardly go and read with his neighbour either – this teacher was adamant on keeping the tables separate, allowing no chatter during his classes. Arthur didn’t really care for his rules, but he abided by them all the same. Detention would be a hassle, after all.

He was about to decide that skipping the class would be better in this case, when he spotted Alfred walking into the classroom talking to a friend. Noticing Arthur, he waved and smiled, before heading to the spot in front of Arthur. He sat down with a sigh, leaning against the window next to him and turning to Arthur.

“Hey Artie! Did you have a nice weekend?”

“It’s Arthur.”

“Yeah- _What_ happened to your face?”

Arthur faltered when Alfred went from happy-go-lucky to something else entirely within a second. The sudden concern and anger behind the spectacles kind of excited Arthur. How odd. Not wanting to share his usual family drama, Arthur shrugged.

“I got into a fight.”

“With who? Is it someone in school?”

Jesus, this entire thing was making Arthur more hot and bothered than he would have cared for. He was positively sure that Alfred was eyeing him almost possessively, as if he would go and beat up whoever had hurt Arthur. Well, that idea was certainly tempting. Alfred going over to his house and beat the living shits out of Allistor, that is. They would be roughly the same length, and perhaps Alfred would even manage to win or something too.

Biting his lip at the all too pleasing fantasy, Arthur shook his head. “Just some loser.”

Alfred’s next movement was unexpected however – he reached out a hand to gingerly brush at Arthur’s cheek. It didn’t hurt, but the sudden move made him flinch all the same, and Alfred quickly retracted his arm as if he had hurt the other.

Alfred’s face was unreadable for a moment as he pushed his glasses more firmly on his nose. Arthur wasn’t sure how a nerd move like that could be attractive, but here he was thinking it. Perhaps it has just been too long that Arthur had any kind of fling with anyone.

Looking down at Arthur’s table, devoid of anything but his cell phone, he nodded back to his own book. “You forgot your book?”

“Yes. Perhaps I should just leave, it’s not as if I understand anything even with the book.” Arthur muttered, glancing at the door again. As if on cue, the teacher walked in and over to the desk, arranging his stuff before he would call the rest to order, as usual.

“Nah, you can borrow mine! I’m already ahead anyway, we actually dealt with much the same during AP so.” Arthur raised his eyebrows. Advanced placement? Looking down and into the book that Alfred had dumped on his own table, he was about to ask the other about that when the teacher spoke up and Alfred turned back around.

Inside of the book were tons of sticky-notes with different approaches to formulas and other tips and tops. He frowned as he paged through the book. Sure, there were also a lot of curious drawings of hamburgers and little supermen, but the notes actually made _sense._ Which was kind of a wonder if your name was Arthur Kirkland.

Slightly offended with the knowledge that apparently wonder-boy over there was not just athletic and friendly, but also intelligent, Arthur stared at the back of the boy’s head. He almost felt as if Alfred had no right, but that was ridiculous. Still, up until now Alfred had fit every stereotype of Arthur’s image of a jock – well side from being into guys, of course. And he wasn’t the kind of guy to be mean to… _different_ people either, opting to befriend just everyone in his path.

Damn it, he was losing control over this situation. He felt himself getting warm as he acknowledged he could very much appreciate a pair of brains, looking down at the book instead and paging over to the content they would go through today.

A buzz in his trousers alerted him of a new text message. At least the teacher never minded them being on their phones, as long as they were quiet. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it to see a message from wonder-boy himself.

_From: The Hero! :D  
09:45 A.M._

_Srry 4 the scribbles. R u ok though? Ur cheek looks nasty._

The gal of that prat!

_To: The Hero! :D  
09:45 A.M. _

_Stop misusing English. If you can’t text properly, don’t text me at all._

He sighed after he had already pressed sent. Perhaps that was a bit too mean, but he couldn’t help it. Gilbert often called him a grammar-nazi, and he hated it, but he hated it more when people were lazy with language.

Arthur noticed Alfred’s shoulders shake a little, as if he were holding in a laugh or something. Not long after there was another buzz.

_From: The Hero! :D  
09:47 A.M. _

_Why I do apologize, my good sir. I’m just saying, it looks gross._

_To: The Hero! :D  
09:47 A.M._

_I take offense to that. What AP are you in?_

_From: The Hero! :D  
09:48 A.M. _

_Calc._

Slightly impressed, Arthur locked his screen and shoved his phone away from him, trying to focus on class. Somehow it was a bit more understandable with all the notes, even if all the drawings were horribly distracting.

As soon as the class ended and Alfred turned around again to retrieve his book, Arthur pinned him down with his stare. “AP Calculus?”

“Eh… yeah?”

“Give me your timetable.” Arthur said, holding out his hand expectantly. Alfred chuckled but obediently grabbed a notebook from his bag, opening it to a page where a timetable was squished in.

And holy shit, the boy wasn’t kidding around. All his electives were filled with fancy mathematical  and engineering classes that made Arthur cringe by just thinking about it.

“How do you even have _time_ left for the football team? With a body like yours I would image you train at least five hours every day.”

Alfred looked rather smug, red hue on his cheeks also there but not giving the same embarrassed impression as he usually did. Arthur realized what he said, but well, it was true wasn’t it? Sometimes being blunt isn’t bad per se.

Besides, if Arthur would let these things get to him, it would only embarrass him. For example, stereotypically, if he blushed he would get splotches of red all around his face as if he had a disease. Or turn into a lobster. That’s not even comparing to when he got a sunburn.

“I don’t know man, this stuff comes real easy to me. And five hours is a bit excessive, isn’t it? Even for these guns,” He made a show of flexing his arms as they both got up to leave the classroom. The action caused Arthur to snort rather unattractively, but Alfred laughed all the same.

“I apologize,” Arthur said eventually, noting that Alfred was probably curious about Arthur’s surprise. “I had kind of expected you to be…”

“Lazy? Dumb?” Alfred supplied, grinning sheepishly. He leant down slightly as they walked, Arthur noticed, as to be on more of an even level with him. That was stupid, the boy was going to hurt his neck or shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard it before. Choosing science over sports, man, my coach could’ve wrung my neck when I missed practice this one time because I had an exam.”

“So you are not going for an athletic scholarship or something?”

“Hell no! No, I wanna go and work for NASA, y’know. Though that is far-fetched, but definitely that direction. I already picked out a college with a strong STEM program and all, so.” He could actually imagine Alfred working there, now that he was thinking about it. Especially now that he knew the talent behind that wide grin. “And you? What do you want to do?”

Arthur hadn’t really figured that out himself. He knew he wanted to do something in the communication field, so he had classes focused on that, but inside of that? No clue. He said as much to the other boy, who nodded, saying that he was horrible with marketing and languages himself. _That_ Arthur could believe, if the boy’s grammar and speech were any indicator.

“Well, this is me!” Alfred announced, stopping in front of a classroom. Arthur blinked out of his thoughts – his own class was a hall further, so he nodded and continued walking. Alfred quickly grabbed his wrist though, catching his attention again. “By the way, when do you wanna go see that movie?”

Arthur smirked at the slight vulnerable expression of the other and shrugged. “How about Thursday night?” It would be some time before Thursday, but Arthur had to get back in control of this situation. And he didn’t have class until late that Friday, so that was profitable too.

Alfred gave a thumbs up. “Cool! I’ll pick you up at five? Sound good?”

“It’s a _date_.” Arthur said, making it sound as suggestive as he could. It worked, Alfred blushed a little again, but he nodded determinedly and offered another kilowatt smile.

“Yeah, totally. Cool. Okay, eh, I’ll see you later, then? I mean, of course I will. In class, later today. Okay then, bye!” Alfred all but fled into the classroom, and Arthur chuckled as he turned around and headed to his next class. Getting the other boy flustered was certainly going to be one of his favourite past-times, if he kept this up.

He sat down next to Antonio, the boy heatedly conversing in Spanish with his boyfriend in front of him. For some reason, Lovino made a point of never sitting next to Antonio in classes, and Arthur figured it had something to do with how _affectionate_ Antonio can be. Noticing the new addition to the group, Lovino scowled at Arthur.

“You look disgusting, what happened?” Okay, Arthur knew that his bruise was turning unbecoming shades because of the healing process, but did everyone have to act on it? He hid his bruise behind his hand and leant on it carefully, grimacing back at the Italian.

“How is Alfred, _mi amigo_?” Antonio asked casually, grinning when Arthur’s glare was redirected to the Spaniard. Lovino looked between the two of them with a frown, before settling on Arthur again.

“You hang out with Jones?”

“Sometimes.”

“Huh, weird. Can’t see you two being friends.” Arthur remembered that Lovino hung out with Alfred quite a bit, when he wasn’t with his brother or lover. Why was beyond him, Lovino and Alfred made about as bad a match as he himself did with the boy.

“We’re not friends.” Well, not really. Arthur didn’t just consider anyone a friend. People had to earn that right. Lovino looked at his phone for a moment, before shooting back up to stare at Arthur, smug grin in place.

“Is that so? So Alfred texting me for a reservation Thursday night in grandpa’s restaurant has nothing to do with you?”

Both of the boys snickered as Arthur’s expression turned from deadpanned to horrified – was Alfred serious? He had thought they were going to something as stupid as McDonalds, or perhaps just a drive-through of somewhere, but he was planning to actually take him out, then?  

“I wanted to cancel work, but I am not going to pass his up!” Antonio said gleefully – right, the bastard worked there ever since he got involved with the Italian.

Ignoring Lovino, Arthur grabbed Antonio by his collar and pulled him a little closer. “You. Are not. Going to fuck this up for me.”

“ _Si, si, mi amigo_ , I would not dare!”

“And he is definitely not working that night, or did you forget about our deal?” Lovino said, annoyed. Antonio wrenched free and looked thoughtful, before looking crestfallen.

“Ah no, I haven’t. _Lo siento_ Lovi, I’ll cancel.”

The rest of the day passed by quickly. He was bullied relentlessly by Francis, Gilbert and Antonio during lunch about his date, but he decided to let it slide off of him like a pro. Francis had made a valid point though – Alfred had said he was picking him up, so Arthur had to return home that day if he wanted to avoid sharing his family drama. Or avoid the hurt look on Alfred’s face when he would see he was having daily sleepovers with the handsy Frenchman.

Still, that was Thursday, and Allistor would leave soon after, and after his lip and piercings were sore from him biting and playing with them so much because of his stressful thoughts, Arthur decided to just not be bothered by it until the day itself.

* * *

 

On Thursday afternoon, after school, he was immensely glad to find out that upon entering the home, no one was home. There were traces of Allistor so that meant he hadn’t left yet, but the house was empty. He didn’t have to wait around for them either – he doubted they would be home before Alfred would be here.

He was wrong.

Literally thirty minutes before he’d leave, he heard the front door open and chatter filling the house. Apparently Allistor had gone shopping with his mother and Peter, and had returned in time for dinner. Arthur sighed, looking once more in the mirror of his bathroom. He looked fine, even though he was still debating trimming his eyebrows in his head. But that debate has been going on for about five years, and he found he was bothered less and less by them each day. Smoothing his bangs over his forehead anyway, Arthur grabbed his wallet and cell phone before heading down the stairs.

He sorely hoped Alfred would show up on time, so that he didn’t have to hang around too long. Treading down the stairs, he eventually met his family in the kitchen. Allistor was looking at him with a smug smirk, lighting a cigarette as if his mum was suddenly okay with indoor smoking. Peter didn’t pay attention to him, eyes glued on his Nintendo, and his mum turned to him with a smile.

“Arthur, you’re home. We’re having fish and chips for dinner.”

“I’m going out.” Arthur replied curtly, glaring at Allistor before turning to his mother. Her smile tensed a little, as if annoyed.

“Another party? It’s a school night, dear.”

He almost wanted to say yes, just to get on her nerves. But being truthful would earn much more this time. “A date.” The three of them, even Peter, looked up in surprise. It wasn’t _that_ odd that he was going on a date. Though he supposed he had never announced going on a date before – _had_ he even gone on dates before? Usually he just partied and ended up with flings.

 _Shit_ , this was his first official date. Well, colour him impressed.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” His mother asked sweetly, and Arthur’s lips curled upwards slightly. “Is she from your school?”

Right on time, the doorbell rang.

“Yes. That’s my ride, don’t wait up.” Arthur made a show of moving out of the kitchen, ignoring Allistor’s ‘ _you let a girl pick you up?’_ and instead sauntering over to the door. He _knew_ they were watching from their positions in the kitchen, so he threw open the door and offered a charming smile to Alfred.

He shrugged on his coat in record time, turning back around to wave at his family, who were dumbstruck to his very delight. Alfred seemed to notice too, hesitantly smiling and offering a good evening. Arthur dragged him down the porch, the door shutting behind them.

Even the look on Allistor’s face had been hilarious.

And he _knew_ that Allistor couldn’t bully him for this – Dylan would be too mad if he did.

“You know,” Alfred chuckled as they entered his car. “I was almost afraid you were going to stand me up.”

“Why would I do that?”

The boy shrugged, focusing on pulling out of the driveway and on the road before turning back to Arthur slightly. “I don’t know, I somehow anticipated it. Not that I think you would be the guy to do that! No offense.”

“None taken. I was kind of expecting you to be horribly late, so I assume we’re even.”

Alfred laughed, relaxing visibly. “I would never be late! I was waiting half an hour before I could leave, I was almost too early!” Well, that is embarrassing. Alfred apparently realized so too, blushing a little and focusing back on the road. “Well, anyway. You familiar with Romano?”

“You do realize I am friends with Antonio Carriedo, right?”

“Oh yeah, duh. You know Lovino too, then? Weirdest couple ever.”

“My vote goes to Tino and Berwald, actually.”

“What, those Scandinavians rights? The tall one and the mom one? Oh man, you’re right. How did _that_ happen. I heard Tino cried the first time Berwald actually spoke to him, lol!”

_Lol?_

“Don’t be preposterous.” Arthur scolded. Tino was a dear friend and he knew for a fact that while he had been scared out of his mind, he had not cried or anything.

“Dude, you sound so old. Preposterous? Really?” Alfred jabbed, laughing brightly. “Anyway, Romano. I kinda wanted to play it safe. It okay?”

“Can’t say I don’t like it.” Arthur agreed, feeling strangely comfortable. Somehow the boy radiated familiarity, and it was easy to loosen up. He played with his tongue piercing after their conversation fell silent, looking at the area around them. Slowly houses were replaced by shops and the like, as they were reaching their destination.

“I’m going to park in the garage, so we’ll have to walk from there. Parking at the restaurant is expensive, man! By the way, doesn’t that hurt?”

Snapping out of his trance, Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Does what hurt?”

“All those things in your face! They look nice though.” The latter bit was added quickly when Arthur smiled.

“To be honest, the clamp they use to secure the spot of the piercing hurts more than the actual piercing.” He took notice of the dullness near his eyebrows. He gingerly touched his bridge with one finger, tapping it lightly. “This one is new, and it’s still sore though.”

“I thought it was new. Couldn’t remember it!” Arthur realized that according to that statement, Alfred had known the amount of piercings Arthur had _before_ they had officially met, and that meant that Alfred had _definitely_ been looking at him before. Alfred didn’t realize what he had said though, tapping at the wheel as they entered the garage.

Alfred shut down the car once they had parked, and made no move of leaving yet, instead wiping his hands on his trousers and smiling sheepishly. “I feel as if I need to apologize beforehand for any rambling and offensive jokes.” He explained.

The unexpected, rather innocent gesture, surprised Arthur into laughing a little. “So far you’re doing well.” He eventually said, smirking suggestively. Alfred nodded and ran a hand through his hair, grinning.

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. I’m not very good… with this. You know, a date and stuff. I am literally copying movies here.”

“As long as you are not going to burst out into song.” Arthur joked, hoping to ease some of the tension. This had to go well, after all. He reckoned he could quit all this quite soon if it went well, his mother now already having seen his date. “But relax. It’s nothing special.”

Over the car, he could see Alfred’s face twisting slightly, as if he wanted to disagree. Arthur waited, but a reply never came, and they left the garage in comfortable silence. The walk over to the restaurant was much the same, Alfred occasionally commenting on people around them and Arthur humming his responses.

Lovino had been right. Alfred had made a reservation, which made Arthur feel a little strange, and soon they were seated at a cosy looking table. Having been here before, Arthur expected no less – the entire restaurant was very cosy and comfortable. The Vargas family was a tight family too, the grandfather in charge of the restaurant was obviously a kind man who loved his work. Aside from employees such as Antonio, he was joined by Lovino and Feliciano, his grandsons. He often heard Lovino complain about the man being a slave-driver, but Arthur knew he enjoyed working here.

“When did you move to America?” Alfred eventually began as they waited for their drinks.

“Three years ago.”

“Okay, sweet. From England, yeah? I’m going to guess that you’re from London, then.”

“Because you honestly believe that or because you know no other town?” At Alfred’s laughter, he knew what the answer was. “I lived in Leicester, not London. Though I suppose it is all the same to you Americans.”

“How is England like? To live in, I mean. I’ve never been there.”

“It rains a lot.” Arthur helpfully supplied. He didn’t really want to go into detail of his everyday life in England, so he just explained the usual about English people, English food, English culture, stuff like that. He noticed Alfred was listening with rapt attention, and it didn’t seem faked, and that was kind of endearing.

“I used to live on a ranch!” Alfred then exclaimed. “Not a big one like in the movies though, it was no McLeod’s Daughters. We used to have this huge business with sheep, I was told, but I can only remember having a few horses. I had this _really_ sweet mare, she was the best! We had to sell the horses though when we moved.” He looked rather morose at the memory, and Arthur instantly knew how to divert the subject.

“You have cats, don’t you?”

He listened to Alfred babble on about his cats and eventually other things too, about the school and their friends, and surprisingly their mutual interest in history. He felt it going the entire wrong direction once they breached America’s and England’s shared history however, and was glad when Alfred effortlessly changed the subject back to the movie they were going to see.

Arthur had to admit – the nerd frenzy thing kind of had its charm. He knew he could get really passionate about things too, such as literature or mythical creatures, and he hated how people always made fun of him for it. Keeping that in mind, he tried his best to remain interested in how the other boy was wildly gesturing around himself as he was explaining something about Wolverine.

What Wolverine had to do with Deadpool, was beyond Arthur.

Throughout their meal they opted for silence again, Arthur because he was running out of things to talk about and Alfred probably because he focused on the food entirely. At least it wasn’t disgusting, Arthur told himself as he watched Alfred devour his food with fascination.

“Now that we've established I am unhealthily addicted to comics… what do you like?” The question caught Arthur off guard and he stared at the other, trying to make up something cool. People never really asked that of him. He supposed he could say partying and drinking. "And don't say going to parties because that’s lame."

Arthur grumbled. “What do you think I like, then?”

Alfred smiled widely at the opportunity. "You're English, so you probably love tea-time with a scone or something. And you're into literature, am I right? You seem like a Shakespeare fan.” _The twat was right, what the hell._ “I don’t think you’re into sports, no offense. Perhaps you play an instrument? Do you game?”

Ignoring the rather offensive stereotypes and how right they actually were, Arthur took a sip of his drink. “I did play the piano when I was younger.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not anymore.” He agreed. They used to have a piano in England, but hadn’t been able to take it with them to America and once in America, had never bothered to get a new one. He doubted he could still play as he used to.

They finished up, and Arthur was somewhat annoyed when the other insisted on paying seeing as he had made the plans. He couldn’t really glare at the kid though, when Alfred then suggested innocently that Arthur could pay next time. He wondered if there even was going to be a next time. To the truthful, if all Arthur wanted was to execute his plan, he didn’t see need for it.

He refused Alfred’s earlier chivalry though, once at the cinema.

“Don’t be absurd! I’m going to pay for my own ticket.”

“No, I’m taking you out, I’m paying.”

“It was my suggestion we went to the movie, bloody Yankee, if anything, I should pay.”

Alfred had an advantage though, which was his strength as he forcibly – albeit with laughter – held Arthur back from the cashier while he ordered two tickets and pushed a twenty dollar bill to the girl in record time.  Shoving at Alfred, Arthur grumbled angrily as he realized what had happened. He snatched the offered ticket out of Alfred’s hands.

“You bloody twat, I hate you.”

“I know you mean love!” He flashed a big smile, as if he hadn’t said something really weird. “Ha! If you knew Deadpool, that would’ve been hilarious. He said that to Spiderman- yeah, never mind, you haven’t seen it anyway.” He finished with a nervous gesture, looking down at the ticket in his hand when they entered the building.

“I am going to the restroom, and you are _not_ going to buy anything until I return.” Arthur threatened. Alfred laughed again, but nodded, and Arthur quickly went into the men’s room.

Once he returned, he saw Alfred juggling all sort of snacks in his arms.

 “You _twat_!” Arthur rushed over when he saw the pile wobbling dangerously. He took the drinks from the other boy as well as a bag of _something_. “This is overdoing it a bit, isn’t it? Didn’t you just eat at the restaurant?”

“Hey, I’m a big boy, I don’t need to defend myself to the likes of you!” Alfred said, sticking out his tongue. “Besides, I didn’t know what you wanted, so I… kind of decided to get…. Everything.”

Something about the embarrassed look on the other face, and the way he was juggling all his items in his hands, was incredibly amusing. Arthur laughed, doubling over a little, finding that he couldn’t even be mad with the American breaking his promise.

Looking up, Alfred was looking at him with kind of an awed expression. Which looked ridiculous, what with the amount of stuff he was holding. “What?”

Alfred blushed, a sweet smile on his face. "Sorry. It's just… Man, this is going to sound lame."

"Then don't say it." Arthur warned, knowing what was coming. He could practically see it because of the blush, and he didn't want to hear something embarrassing. Alfred ignored him though, smiling a bit wider.

"You look, I don't know, kinda nice when you laugh like that. You should do it more often."

Arthur didn't worthy him with any response but a scoff and just turned around to walk into the room for the movie. Alfred immediately led them somewhere in the back, and Arthur tried not to imagine why. He simply sat down, shoved the popcorn and a soda back onto the American's lap, and sipped his own soda slowly. He could feel the other looking at him, but chose to ignore it.

The movie wasn't all that bad, but as Arthur said before, he just wasn't that much into the Marvel genre. It was kind of interesting to watch Alfred watch the movie though. Even though he claimed he had seen it before, he was still sucked into it with big, wide eyes, like a child. Before Arthur knew it, he had wolfed down half of all the snacks too. Arthur bit his lip to refrain from chuckling lest he'd draw Alfred's attention. Then the moment would be ruined. 

“As bad as you wanted it to be?” he suddenly heard Alfred whisper to him. He smiled, eyeing the American. Even though it was dark, Arthur could still see the bright blue of the other's eyes.

“I hate it.” Arthur said, but even he knew it didn’t sound believable at all. Alfred heard it as well, and offered a delighted smile before turning back to the screen.

Arthur wondered… he carefully, _subtly_ , slid his arm on the armrest. Slow enough, he eventually shifted his hand a little closer as he watched Alfred out of the corner of his eyes. It worked perfectly, because the American’s arm accidentally slipped and bumped into him, and Alfred's response to Arthur’s sudden presence on the armrest was to grab the other's hand and intertwine their fingers.

Arthur was willing to bet a hundred bucks that despite acting all innocent and blushing, Alfred knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

At the end of the movie, Alfred wasted no time resuming his earlier rant over the movie they had been watching, and this time, Arthur paid less attention. He was too distracted by the way Alfred  _still_ held his hand, but that was good, that was improvement. He nodded sometimes and tried to smile when it was appropriate, and the American looked even more cheerful than before, if that was possible.

"So, eh," Alfred started once they were back in the car, Arthur's hand feeling strangely cold despite the heat being turned up the moment they got in. "Did you have fun?"

"Of course." The Brit replied. "Did you?"

Alfred laughed nervously, though it held more confidence than that it did at the beginning of the evening. Arthur looked at the clock; half past twelve. His family was most likely already sleeping – good.

“Yeah! I am just kind of amazed that I didn’t totally screw this up.” He admitted. They were already pulling out of the garage, Arthur humming his confusion as they pulled up on the streets. “I mean, I know that being nervous is kind of a deal breaker on dates, you know? But I was _really_ nervous, man, you have no idea.”

This was going to get awkward, wasn’t it? He could practically taste it. “Why?”

Alfred didn't reply at first, before nervously putting some words together. “I don't know, you're different. Not in a bad way! I mean, I just get the feeling I need to impress you, because ever since ninth grade I kinda wanted to ask you out or whatever.”

By now, Arthur was kind of used to Alfred’s mouth not having a censor or a lock. He waited patiently for the ramble to end, trying not to feel too embarrassed. Ninth grade though? That was Arthur’s first year here. He couldn’t even remember if he had had any run-ins with the American back then, but he probably had.

“Or just hang out with you, but you kinda have this reserved, cool atmosphere, you know? Oh man, I am making this awkward. Sorry. Please don't be weirded out.”

Arthur could practically _hear_ Alfred cursing to himself in his head. He had to weigh his options here though. He was definitely not going with something as cheesy as saying he did too, also because it simply wasn’t true.

For a moment he felt kind of constricted. This, what he was doing, was going to hurt Alfred’s feelings. But being honest with Alfred, well that was an idea that was never, ever going to be executed.

Trying to act as casual as possible, he reached out and brushed his hand over the hand resting on the gear stick. “I’m not weirded out. You can relax next time.” He deliberately put extra emphasis on the last two words, smiling when Alfred’s face lit up.

They remained silent for the rest of the ride back to Arthur's place. Parked on the side of the street, Arthur glared at his house. He wondered if he could just pack his stuff and go to Francis’ again until Allistor left, but that was childish. Besides, he was probably away for the weekend anyway, as usual.

He started in surprise when Alfred leapt out of the car and jumped over to hold the door open for Arthur. _Are you being serious?_ This kid had a serious Hollywood complex, Arthur had to give him that. He wasn’t very surprised then when Alfred actually walked him to his door. He had a faint idea of what was going to happen next.

Though, once at the door, Arthur fumbled with his keys. Alfred was looking at him rather expectantly, and guilt rose in his throat. He was definitely going to hurt this poor boy. Alfred didn’t deserve that, he probably couldn’t even hurt a fly.

No wait, being on the football team and the tackles Arthur knew took place in there, he _could_ hurt a fly, but you catch his drift.

Still, he felt claustrophobic. He finally got the key in the lock and the door opened swiftly. The hallway was dark – that at least proved that his family had gone to bed, fortunately.

“I had a good time!” He felt as if he was squealing, damn it. Alfred looked a little confused too, as Arthur all but jumped inside of his house. “See you tomorrow in class, then?”

“…Yeah, of course!” Alfred’s weird look was carefully replaced with a cheerful one again. He watched as Alfred turned back and walked back over to his car, closing the door halfway as to hide half of his face.

_Christ, that was embarrassing. What are you, twelve?_

Arthur continued calling himself names up until Alfred actually left the street. Slamming the door loudly, realizing he could wake people up but not caring, Arthur all but raced up to his room. He locked the door behind him and undressed before diving into his bed.

By the time he heard the clock downstairs chime two a.m., he had finally calmed down. Instead of slightly panicking about his guilt, he was now calling himself all sort of insults for acting like a blushing schoolgirl – he was the composed one of the two, after all!

Reading an elaborate text from Francis in which the Frenchman ordered him to tell him every detail, and then deleting it, he was surprised as his screen lighted up with a new message. Opening it, he snorted loudly. Alfred had send him a picture of the character they had just seen, in lingerie, sending another one with ‘ _Good night :D_ ’ underneath it.

He wanted to chuck his cell phone against the wall, but instead opened a new text message and starting typing.

_To: The Hero! :D  
02:03 A.M._

_Go to sleep, twat._

_From: The Hero! :D  
02:07 A.M._

_Is it creepy that I can totally hear your posh accent in my head?_

_To: The Hero! :D  
02:07 A.M._

_Ignoring you now._

_From: The Hero! :D  
02:08 A.M. _

_Not cool! Sweet dreams ;)_


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday was Allistor’s last day here, fortunately. That did mean that his mother insisted on them all having dinner together on that same day, unfortunately.

He figured he could just leave the house and do whatever, and he was actually going to do just that. Perhaps he would go to the library if no one was able to hang out. He wasn’t a big fan of hanging out with Gilbert alone, or with Antonio and Lovino snogging each other’s face off, and Francis was out with his family so that was out of the question.

His mind wandered over to Alfred – but he couldn’t. He had ignored the other boy since Thursday night, not replying to any text messages. It just felt wrong – he had to get himself in control first. He wanted to continue with his plan, but perhaps he had to find another target, someone who’d deserve it and not Alfred.

It kind of saddened him when his last text message was from Saturday morning – apparently he had gotten the hint. But who was he kidding, if he was going to act like a jerk he should be expected to be treated as such too.

Well, anyway. He supposed he could give Tino a call and see if he was up to anything today. He was in luck too – the Fin immediately replied with that he and Lukas were going to see an ice hockey game and actually had an extra ticket since Lukas’ brother was sick. Ice hockey wasn’t really one of his hobbies, but he supposed it would take his mind off of things. Agreeing to meet them there, Arthur was about to walk down the hall to grab his stuff when his mother gently tugged him into a corner.

“Arthur, dear, I wanted to talk to you.” He raised his eyebrows. They hadn’t really talked either since Thursday, or well, since the moment Allistor had arrived. In the living room he heard the rest of his family chat away about some television program that was on simultaneously.

“I need to go.” Arthur said, hoping she’d make it quick. She looked disappointed for a moment realizing that he wasn’t going to join them for dinner, but didn’t comment on it.

“I know you haven’t had it easy the last few years,” She started, and Arthur wanted to roll his eyes. She made it sound as if he was some kind of drama-queen. “But I want you to know that we love you very much and that your happiness is our happiness.”

“But?”

She looked queasy for a moment, eyes sliding over to the living room before settling on her son again. “And I’m sure that he is a very sweet boy, but it would just be better if you date girls. It’s just easier for you and everybody else.”

He gave her a flat look. He had kind of expected this conversation Friday when he met her in the kitchen for breakfast, not now. And also what the fuck?

“Easier for him you mean?” He snapped, taking a step back. Even though this was kind of part of the plan and even if he expected this, he still felt slightly nauseous.

“You know what he thinks of them, but don’t worry, I have not told him.” _Them?!_ “And we don’t mind you hanging out with them,” _Stop bloody saying them._ “But you don’t have to do this for attention. You can just talk to us.”

Well. That hit home, but still. He had never seen himself as a hundred percent straight guy, so even though that he was kind of doing this out of spite, it still made his blood boil. He had half a mind to hysterically announce that she didn’t have one queer son, but two, but decided against it. That wasn’t his secret to tell.

Instead of gracing her with a response, he fixed her with what he hoped was a venomous glare, before abruptly turning and walking over to the door. Thankful that he already had most of his stuff in his pockets, he grabbed his coat and left the house. Purposefully, he slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.

Setting a quick pace as if he was expecting to be followed by the damned woman, Arthur reached the bus stop in no time. Thankful that at least they showed up every fifteen minutes, it didn’t take very long before he was on his way to the hockey stadium.

The nerve! He felt like punching something. Instead, he typed out a message full about just what he thought of the woman and man that dared call themselves his parents to Francis, leaving Alfred out of it for a change and instead going on about how gay marriage may be legalized in the States, but how the houses in the land were still filled with homophobes.

Francis didn’t reply, because of course he didn’t, but he was probably busy. Still, typing everything out and furiously hitting send did at least calm some of his nerves.

He was surprised when he got a message from Dylan however, asking if he was all right. Quickly after came one explaining Allistor had texted him, and Arthur could figure out what they had talked about. He declined the offer to talk over the phone in his reply, saying that he’d get back to him later. He did feel kind of strange about Allistor apparently sharing concerns over _Arthur_ of all people with their other brother.

It wasn’t very hard to find the two people he was supposed to meet at the stadium’s parking lot. Tino had a habit of wearing bright colours, especially blue, and mixing that with his platinum blonde hair made him a beacon of light in a darker crowd. He was certain that they saw the stormy expression on his face, but neither boy mentioned it. Tino happily chatted away about the game they were going to see – as a young boy in Finland, he had also played hockey, but had never picked it up afterwards – and about their week. Lukas was characteristically quiet, occasionally making embarrassed faces at his phone. Arthur didn’t want to know.

The game helped soothe his nerves a bit more. Though he couldn’t actually partake in the violence, watching it was just as good. He was kind of surprised at first with how much violence there actually was – it was almost like football. Tino explained to him about he got a scar on his leg as a kid, because he cut himself on the blades of a skate, and how a childhood friend of his had lost a tooth because he received a stick to the face, and Arthur winced at the mental images.

It was safe to say that Arthur did not feel home in sports at the least. He had tried sports of course. For example football – or soccer, not confusing it with rugby, damn Americans – when he was younger, or simply jogging to keep him in shape. In the end he didn’t have to motivation and discipline to continue, and he didn’t have to do it to maintain a healthy weight anyway. One of the blessings from his mother was a quick metabolism, fortunately.

Lukas was obviously thinking the same, stoically looking at the warzone in the middle of the arena. “I don’t see the fun in sweaty men breaking each other’s ribs.”

Arthur barked out a laugh at the surprising comment, turning to the boy to voice his agreement. Tino scoffed at them both, but focused on the game pretty soon afterwards.

It was kind of cold in the arena too, and he cursed himself for not bringer anything warmer, but it wasn’t even November yet so the thought of grabbing a winter coat did not even occur to him. A few days ago it had been warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt, anyway.

And he hardly understood what was going on anyway. He couldn’t even keep track of which team of was which and whether or not they scored because they seemed to do a lot of boasting anyway. An hour in, he tapped the boys on their shoulders, claiming that he was going for a smoke and if they wanted anything to drink.

Worming himself out of the mass of visitors, Arthur breathed in happily when he finally had more space. It was then that he spotted an albino haired head nearby, and he wondered what Gilbert of all people would be doing here. Trotting over, avoiding to get bumped into as much as he could, he grabbed the boy’s shoulder.

And promptly froze when Gilbert turned around, revealing Alfred standing next to him.

“Limey!” Gilbert greeted. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of thing?”

“I don’t.” Arthur said, tearing himself away from Alfred’s intense gaze. The boy’s face was unreadable, but he was definitely boring holes in Arthur’s head, and it made him feel claustrophobic. “It kind of has its charm I suppose.”

“Fuck if I know, I’m just here cheering on my boo!”

Alfred scowled, glaring at Gilbert. “He’s not your anything! God, why did I even let you come along?”

“Because birdie totally wanted me to come.” Gilbert defended. At Arthur’s deepening confused frown, Alfred shrugged.

“Mattie plays in the team. He’s at the goal.” He is? Arthur turned around and stood on his toes to watch the field in the middle. He couldn’t really recognize the blonde boy however, what with all the gear he was wearing.

“Ain’t that just badass?” Gilbert crowed. “My baby is totally awesome.”

“Right,” Arthur deadpanned, watching in amusement as Alfred smacked the boy up the head. “I’m stepping outside for a moment.” He distanced himself from them immediately but was stopped when Alfred grabbed his arm.

“Can I come with?”

 _No_. “Okay.”

They slithered their way through the crowd until ending up near the gates, where more people were smoking or just taking a breath. Fumbling for his cigarettes and ignoring that it wasn’t the cold that made Arthur shiver, he lighted one quickly and ignored Alfred’s grimace.

They stood in silence then, Arthur watching out of the corner of his eye as Alfred shuffled around a little, hands stuck in the pockets of his bomber jacket as he occasionally glanced at the Brit.

“Are you okay?”

What kind of a question was that? Arthur turned a little as to face the other boy, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Alfred offered a sheepish smile, shrugging. “I don’t know, you look kind of angry.” At Arthur’s silence, he prodded a little more, voice oddly soft. “Was it me? I’m sorry. I kinda get in over my head sometimes.”

Arthur sighed, throwing away his cigarette and stomping it out even if it wasn’t finished yet. He didn’t feel like smoking anyway, at the moment. “No, I… you know how parents can be.” He finished lamely.

“Tell me about it.” Alfred said, kicking at the ground. “So who are you with?”

“Tino and Lukas. Does Matthew often play?”

“Yeah, he’s a real monster when he’s on the ice, it’s scary. But cheering him on is the least I can do, he always comes to my games as well.”

They eventually found a bench somewhere and decided to sit down, Arthur calming down more in the other’s presence. He had thought it would be awkward because he had acted like an ass and had ignored him, but Alfred seemed to take it all in stride.

“I was kinda surprised too, when we moved here and Mattie wanted to join the team. Apparently he played in Canada too.”

“How is it that you were raised separately?” The question had been on Arthur’s mind an insane amount of time, and whether or not Alfred wanted to tell, he had to know. Fortunately he didn’t get the reply he had been anticipating.

Alfred leaned back, frowning for a moment. “My parents got divorced when we were three. Ma took Mattie to Canada and pa and I stayed on the ranch. They suddenly had some kind of vendetta on each other or something, so we never saw each other. But Ma got ill four years ago, and Mattie was send to live with us again, poor kid. Ma changed his family name to her own maiden name too, Williams. Kinda hurts, because people often think were cousins instead of brothers, but oh well.”

Arthur mentally kicked a tantrum – so not only did he fool a guy who was kind and sweet, but now he had a tragic backstory as well. Marvellous, just marvellous.

“Is she very sick?”

“I don’t know. She won’t die, but she needs supervision so she’s living in one of them homes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, that’s fine. Tell me about your family? If you don’t mind.”

Strangely enough, he didn’t. But he still had to bite his tongue not to automatically deflect the question as he would usually do. Instead he shrugged, hiding his chin in his coat and looking down. “’s Just me, my mum, her husband, and Peter now. I have three older brothers but they moved out. Two of them emigrated too, the show ponies. I have no idea where my father is supposed to be.”

“That’s rough.” Alfred eventually said as Arthur quieted down. He was briefly wondering why he told the other boy that, because he wasn’t even sure if anyone else but Francis knew a thing about his stepfather not being his real father. Frankly said Arthur just never mentioned his family.

He tried not to flinch as Alfred leant back and spread his arms over the back of the bench, the move he was trying to make so obvious it made him feel jittery. Apparently ignoring the other hadn’t done a thing to dampen the boy’s intentions.

“Look, Alfred, I…” He stopped – he couldn’t be truthful. The boy would hate him. And if he had to be fair, if he could look past his pride that is, he could admit Alfred was a good kid. If he had to execute this plan in order to get what he wanted, there would be worse people to be stuck with. He could just give him the impression that he was trying it out, no strings attached. Right?

Alfred had leant back forward again, concern twinkling in his baby blue’s. Arthur suddenly had the strange urge to kiss him.

“I should go back.” He instead said. “And Gilbert must be wondering where you are.”

Alfred frowned, sitting back. “I suppose.” He muttered before both the boys stood up and walked back into the arena. Up until they parted Arthur was aware of Alfred’s confused eyes on him, but when Arthur said that he’d see the other at school, the American boy at least offered a smile.

 

* * *

 

Despite the weird weekend and Arthur’s earlier behaviour, Alfred had fallen back into his usual attitude come Monday. Though it was clear as crystal to Arthur that he was putting slightly more effort in trying to be charming and less forthcoming, which was quite endearing.

And it annoyed Arthur, because he wanted to be in control of the situation whilst at the same time combatting the guilt that tasted like sourness in his mouth every time he spotted the American.

Still, it was rather fun. Francis was having the time of his life as well – between draping himself over his friend in order to make the boy jealous and being his usual self, he teased Arthur relentlessly. Mainly about how he had thought Arthur would have finished his thing by now, but was stalling for some reason. Being the self-proclaimed ambassador of love, he wasted no time with jumping to conclusions.

It didn’t _help._

He decided to step up his game.

By lunch on Wednesday, he had constructed a small plan again and walked to Alfred’s direction, confident about what he was going to do and say. The company Alfred was in was rather distasteful however, as he was lunching with his football team mates. They jeered as Arthur came close, scowling at him. He raised one eyebrow to Alfred, as if to ask why on earth Alfred would associate himself with them.

Apologetically, Alfred smiled and shrugged. Arthur felt slightly offended then by how the other boys with their fragile masculinity were cussing him out, and left without another word. He supposed he could catch Alfred later, when he wasn’t surrounded by apes.

Later came pretty soon. Arthur was in the library, working on an essay from his AP English class, when Alfred soundlessly threw himself in the chair opposite of him.

“You free tonight?”

How _dare_ – Arthur had meant to ask that, before! How was he supposed to stay one step ahead when this wanker screwed with his plans?

Deciding not to be set back, Arthur flashed a charming grin. He noticed Alfred wasn’t as easily flustered by this as he had been the week before, but he was still eyeing the Brit with rapt attention. Instead of answering, he nodded back to the door. “You are not supposed to talk in the library. Get out.”

“Dude, chillax. I’m whispering, everyone whispers in libraries.”

“ _Chillax?_ What kind of a word is that? It’s not even in the English dictionary. You’re such a yank!”

“Shush, we’re in a library. You’re so easy to rile up, Artie!”

Arthur glared, feeling his face heat up a little, but not enough to be embarrassing. “Some nerve you have. And it’s _Arthur._ ”

“Hey, my mates can be dicks but,” Alfred said defensively. “you know I’m not like that.”

“One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Arthur felt strangely excited over the fact that the boy apparently knew his Hamlet. Though, no way he could outwit Arthur in this game.

“Honest people don’t hide their deeds.” At Alfred’s lost look, he knew he had him. Wuthering Heights was never a popular book among the males anyway.

Alfred looked slightly exasperated however when Arthur made a point of returning to his essay. The quote probably hit home more than Arthur had intended – he doubted that he had actually told his team that he didn’t play entirely for the same team as them. Pun intended.

Deciding he might as well relent, Arthur gently kicked Alfred’s leg beneath the table. “What did you have in mind, then?” At Alfred’s look, he frowned. “You have no idea?”

“Dude, I didn’t even think you would say yes.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Though we could just, y’know. Hang out? At my place, or yours.”

Arthur was out one period before Alfred was, but he supposed the idea wasn’t too bad. He disliked the idea of going to the cinema, and he was sure as hell not going to let Alfred pay for yet another dinner. But he was low on money himself as well, so something that wouldn’t cost him anything would be the best option.

Besides, free period was almost over and he hadn’t finished his essay yet. He could put the time to use.

“Your place sounds lovely.” Because he wasn’t sure whether or not his house was empty. He’d rather meet the entire Jones family then have Alfred meet his own.

“Okay, cool! I gotta run for my next class though. See you later, Artie!”

“It’s _Arthur,_ you twat!”

“Haha! You're cute when you're annoyed.”

Arthur resisted throwing his book at the boy as the latter all but ran from the library. The librarian glared at him as well, so Arthur decided he might as well head to his next class as well.

Four hours later, Alfred pulled in on a driveway of an insanely big house. It almost looked like a fucking mansion, Arthur thought, as he exited the car and followed the enthusiastic boy to the front porch.

“Home sweet home!” Alfred announced as he threw the door open. Still amazed by the sheer size of the house and the impressive front garden, Arthur entered the hallway. It looked every bit as expensive as the rest of the house did, though not snobby or pretentious.

“My folks ain’t home, and I think Mattie’s at practice.” He was slightly relieved that he _didn’t_ have to meet the entire Jones family. However, that _did_ mean they were alone, and that fit into Arthur’s plan perfectly. And made him nervous, but whatever.

He took the time Alfred took to deposit their things in an open closet nearby to look at the walls. They were decorated with pictures, much the same as in his own house, and a side table was scattered with sports trophies. How very typical.

“I thought your parents were divorced?” Arthur asked, nodded at one of the pictures showing Alfred, Matthew, and two adults.

“Yeah, my dad got remarried when we moved here. She’s nice.”

What a refreshing sentiment compared to Arthur’s own feelings to his stepfather. “Cute outfit.” He couldn’t help but remark, eyes closing in on pictures of Alfred as a toddler and kids in Halloween costumes. He couldn’t help but notice that were significantly less pictures of Matthew than there were of Alfred, but he wasn’t going to pry.

“Har-die-har.” Alfred deadpanned, grabbing Arthur’s elbow and dragging him away. “I’m not pulling out the embarrassing albums of me as a baby.”

“What a shame.” He was led to the kitchen, where Alfred released him as he started rummaging through the cabinets. The kitchen was a spacious room with a large kitchen island in the middle, at which Arthur decided to sit down.

“I’m guessing you like tea. We got some Earl Grey I think.”

Feeling slightly offended at the stereotype – but it was right – Arthur resisted asking for something else entirely. “With milk and sugar.” He muttered instead.

He laughed when he realized Alfred was nervous, the boy stumbling around a little. The boy ducked down for the sugar and shot back up, hitting his head on an open cabinet. Stifling his laughter as the boy cast him an unamused glance, Arthur’s attention was diverted by the kitchen door rumbling a bit. Through a hole down below entered a rather fat-looking, white cat with a black neckline.

“Good afternoon, Oreo.” Arthur greeted as the cat jumped onto the island and accepted a scratch underneath his chin.

“Weird, I can’t remember telling you…”

Arthur was sure as _hell_ not going to tell that he had stalked through Alfred’s Facebook profile and had found out that way. Though he was sure the horrified expression on his face did all the talking. Alfred left him be, bless his heart, shrugging as he turned back around to finish the drinks. Sliding a mug of tea over to the Brit, he sat down at the island as well with a glass of coke.

The cat sauntered over to him, to which Alfred sternly glared and swatted him from the island, claiming he wasn’t allowed on there. A rather awkward silent took place then, Arthur resisting the urge to snap when the boy seemed ardent on not raising his eyes from his glass.

“I didn’t really think this through.” Alfred eventually said, laughing sheepishly. “Do you game? Or we could watch a movie or something. Are you staying for dinner? Nobody’ll be home though so we’ll have to make something. Or order in.”

Deciding to ease the boy’s nerves some, Arthur offered a smirk. “We could game, and cooking sounds okay.” Alfred visibly relaxed.

“Okay, cool! I got this kickass zombie game last week that we can multiplayer. I promise not to kick your ass.”

“Spare me the promises,” Arthur chuckled. They manoeuvred through the living room, which held no television for some reason, into a side sitting room. Resisting the urge to comment on how Alfred really was a spoilt little brat, Arthur instead sat down on the comfy looking couch in front of a rather large flat screen. Alfred was on his knees in front of it, turning on the gaming console before clambering back towards him with two controllers in his hand.

Arthur noticed with a smirk that Alfred had opted to sit rather close, but he wasn’t going to object. Alfred quickly went over the controls and Arthur didn’t understand half of it – but he’d figure it out. He didn’t kick Gilbert’s ass during Call of Duty marathons for nothing.

As it were, he learnt to play the game rather quickly indeed. He had one big advantage – the boy next to him apparently _hated_ jump scares. And Arthur was good in stealth. Every time he managed to sneak up on the boy’s player, Alfred all but shrieked and managed to lose through a small panic attack.

He hadn’t known Alfred would be that easy to scare, though the zombies and their ominous breathing and shuffling did nothing to him. It was rather strange and Arthur wondered if the boy liked horror movies.

“You’re cheating!” Alfred claimed when Arthur won for the fifth time in a row.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Give me that, you’re not playing fair.” Alfred childishly pouted before trying to grab Arthur’s controller in the middle of a session. Arthur snorted and tried to keep the other boy at bay, using his knees, thumbs quickly moving over the controller as he zeroed in on his target. Targeting itself proved rather difficult with how Alfred was pushing and pulling, and Arthur resisted the urge to laugh.

“Wanker, admit defeat already!” He announced, narrowly avoiding elbowing the other boy in the stomach when Alfred refused. He managed to shoot the boy’s character in the legs, which left him to slowly bleed out, game over appearing on the other boy’s side of the screen.

Alfred stilled, staring at the screen unbelievingly. Arthur took the moment to appreciate the position the American had managed to get them in – he was all but squashing Arthur on the couch with his own weight, Arthur’s upper body twisted sideways to the screen and one of his knees pressing against Alfred’s abdomen. Alfred’s hands were still firmly on his upper arms as he had been trying to wrench the controller out of his grasp.

Deciding to up his game, Arthur wondered whether or not he should grind his knee in the other’s crotch, or slip the other boy a little so that his face would be closer. Both seemed rather exciting, especially now that Alfred noticed their position. His cheeks were immediately painted by a red hue. 

“Alfred, I didn’t know you would be home so soon!”

Mortified at the sudden interruption, Alfred all but flew from the other boy into a sitting position again, Arthur sighing.

“Oh, hey Simone. You headin’ home?”

“Yes, I need to pick up little Chris from scouting. I left your laundry in your room. Have fun with your friend!”

“Yeah, thanks, see you tomorrow.”

 The woman left, Arthur straightening up and staring at Alfred incredulously. “I totally didn’t introduce you, sorry! That was Simone, our maid.”

“The _hell_?” Okay, a big house he could appreciate. But a bloody maid? “Just how rich are you?”

Alfred at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. Laughing as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, Alfred shrugged.

“I don’t know! My parents thought it was necessary to hire one. They both work so they don’t really have time to clean, y’know.”

“And heaven forbid you and your brother do the chores?” He felt rather bitter, unjustly so of course. Besides, it wasn’t as if Arthur did a lot of chores – his mother worked part time and was still home a lot, and she let her sons do whatever they wanted.

“Dude, you make it sound awful. I’m not a spoilt brat or anything.”

“Alfred, you live in a bloody mansion and I see at least four gaming consoles hooked up on that ridiculously sized screen.” Though he had to admit, judging by the boy’s clothes and car he would have never thought that it went paired with this house or a maid. Alfred looked rather insulted too, so he rolled his eyes. “Sorry, that was beneath me.”

“Yeah, no, okay, I can kinda see your point I guess.” Alfred eventually said, slumping back slightly. “My folks both work pretty high-pay jobs, you know. But I always refuse to be spoiled by them, I rather work for my own shit. I’m in between jobs right now because of school and football, but I used to work part time at the garage nearby.”

“You bloody worked in a garage? How stereotypical handsome jock are you?” Arthur couldn’t help as it slipped out.

Alfred grinned. “Handsome, huh?”

“Oh get bent, you tosser.” He accentuated the fondness in his words by slowly moving his eyes from Alfred’s face to the boy’s admittedly handsome body. He was definitely fit, but didn’t have too much muscles. He could see _why_ girls often fawned over the boy, and why he was one of the favourite golden boys of the school. “So, is this the part where you introduce me to your butler Carson or your labbie Isis?

“Don’t be pessimist sugar, it’s very middle class.”

“I don’t know whether I should be aroused or alarmed about you knowing Downton Abbey. Even if you butchered that quote.”

Alfred laughed, a red hue once more appearing on his cheeks at Arthur’s words. “My stepmom is a big fan.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Arthur mostly marvelling about the things he got to know about the other boy. He wasn’t all that different from his as he had initially thought – sure they were still polar opposites, but the distance between them was a lot less. He found that he actually _enjoyed_ being with the carefree boy, a refreshing change from his usual company.

Though right now, Arthur would pay a million dollars to be causing trouble with his friends instead. At least Alfred was having a good time. All Arthur knew that he was one step removed from sending the boy to the hospital by ‘accident’.

“Dude! It's  _partially_  black! How the hell did you manage- oh god, I can't, air, what is air!” Alfred clutched his sides, practically tearing up at seeing how Arthur managed to burn soup.

Okay, so, he wasn't the best cook at times. He could handle himself, but he never said he was a chef!

Arthur bit the insides of his cheeks. He could just throw the soup all over Alfred, that would shut him up. After five minutes, Arthur lost his patience.

"Shut the hell up, or I'll kick you in the balls, you wankstain! God, you’re such a plonker."

The laughing stopped abruptly, and Alfred looked at him incredulously. “… _Plonker_?”

Almost immediately, the laughing returned just as obnoxious as before, and Arthur felt his face heat up. British slang wasn’t that funny, god damn it. Offering his most venomous glare, which didn’t do a thing if he had to be honest to Alfred right now, Arthur huffed.

“I’m leaving if you don’t stop being stupid.” _That_ did calm the American down a little, and Alfred tried to reign in his chuckles, a hand before his mouth.

“No, no! Artie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. We can cook something else, _I_ can cook something else. You'll sit there, and…. _Plonker!_ "

Arthur groaned in frustration when the American went at it again, and threw the spatula he was still holding on the counter. "Fuck you, you tosser." He snapped, turning around and heading for the hallway. Alfred snapped out of it and stumbled after the Brit.

"No, Artie, seriously, sorry, it's just, you're such a Brit!"

"Shut up, I don't want to talk to you!" Just as Arthur reached the door– even though he had forgotten his stuff, but honestly he was just being dramatic – he was captured in an arm lock, and practically heaved into the air. He yelped as Alfred carried him through the hall, back to the kitchen. After some struggling, he sat the other down on the chair and knelt down to smile charmingly at him.

"I'm sorry Arthur. I won't insult you again. Forgive me?"

“You’re a pl- a wanker.” Alfred snorted but managed to keep a stoic face. “Just make me something to eat, then.”

Alfred obediently rose to his feet, but after a quick inspection closed the fridge. “How about we order in, instead? My treat.”

Usually Arthur would protest, but he was still miffed at the boy, so he agreed. Half an hour later, the kitchen island was decorated with take-out boxes from a local Chinese restaurant. Alfred wanted to eat in front of the television, but at Arthur’s objection had obediently sat back down in the kitchen.

They exchanged civil conversation once more, though Arthur was lost in thought a little as he stared at the two cats that were mooching up at them from the ground. Arthur knew the tabby to be called Crumpet, but he wasn’t going to slip up again so instead called them little guys.

The mooching paid off as Alfred occasionally flung a piece of food towards the felines, and Arthur wanted to protest but they weren’t his cats so he didn’t comment. He had heard Matthew had a cat too, Kuma-something, but he was old and lazy and practically never left the boy’s room.

Knowing Alfred had announced earlier that everyone was due to come home soon, he had claimed he had better get going home too. He was planning to just take the bus, but Alfred was insistent on taking him home, and well, that would save Arthur another few dollars.

Alfred was happily chattering away as Arthur focused on the world passing them by, as he usually found himself doing in cars. Apparently Alfred had remembered exactly where to go, because they were heading in the right direction at least.

“-but I stacked it away, it's not what I like anyway.”

“Sorry, what did you say, love?” He choked once he realized what he said. Alfred didn’t even blink however, and Arthur wondered if he had said it before, but he was relieved for now that he wasn’t teased. Even if Alfred’s face looked a little brighter than it had before.

“My stepmom got this box of classics from her book club and she gave it to me, you know, Shakespeare, Austen, Twain and whatsoever. But I stacked it away because I don’t read that kinda stuff. I’ll probably donate it or throw it out or something.”

A piece of Arthur's literary-loving heart crumbled. “You don't  _like_ them? Their works are legendary, how can you _not_ like them?”

Alfred grinned. “Perhaps I should just use them for a bonfire on the beach or something, that way we can spare money on wood-“

“You are absolutely mental! Don’t you dare lay one ill-intentioned finger on those books or so help me.”

Alfred laughed loudly. “Oh come on, Artie, they're just books! Just paper with words on them.”

“Precious words, mind you, words that changed people’s views on the world. The world would be better if everyone read and understood them.” He sniffed dramatically.

"You _would_ get angry at me for not liking some books.” Alfred feigned hurt, just as dramatically, and Arthur scoffed.

“You are infuriating.” Arthur accused, their remaining time being filled with more playful bickering. Alfred had swiftly parked diagonal from Arthur’s house. There were lights on in the living room, Arthur noticed with dread.

“Someone has to keep you on your toes.” Alfred replied smartly. “If you want, I can track down that box of smelly writes. You can have ‘em.”

“I can’t accept that.” Arthur said, looking at the other with a frown. Sure, Alfred had said he was going to donate them otherwise, but still. That was kind of a loaded gift for him. Oh, but he _wanted_ them. Arthur always spend his own money on the wrong stuff, so his sparse collection of books was funded by Christmas and birthday gifts only.

“’F course you can! It’s not as if I’ll do anything with them otherwise.”

He had a point. “Okay, fine.” Arthur grumbled after watching the other give him a confident, charming grin for a while. “Thank you, then.”

Noticing they both weren’t keen on leaving the car – Alfred would probably walk him to his door again, Arthur thought, the sentimental twat – Alfred nervously tapped the steering wheel. It was fascinating to see how Alfred was clearly thinking something over and over and over until he made up his mind.

“So, I was wondering. Do you want to… There’s a bonfire at the beach this weekend, and I’m pretty sure Mattie and Gilbert are going to be there too. So perhaps you want to come too?”

“With you?”

“Yeah, with me! As in… as in a date perhaps?”

Well, this was awkward. Not because of the question, but Arthur _hated_ the beach. Mostly he hated beaches during daytime, because he had the worst skin ever if it came to sunburns. They came quickly and they were relentless. And he wasn’t fond of swimming in the ocean either – who knew what was swimming beneath him. It creeped him out, frankly said.

All that didn’t matter though when Arthur saw Alfred giving him a hopeful look. “Sounds great.”

“Cool! Okay. I don’t know how late yet, but I’ll let you know. I’ll pick you up of course.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah…”

Arthur shuffled his feet. He was aware he had to leave the car, but he so badly didn’t want to go home and face his life there. But he could hardly bother the other more, he knew Alfred was feeling rather uncomfortable with not knowing what Arthur was doing.

“I,” Arthur eventually started, practically jolting Alfred out of his thoughts. “I had fun. Today.” Okay, now that was even more lame.

“Really? Yeah, I did too. Man, you kicked my ass more times than I can count. There should be a warning label on you or something. _Beware ye who challenge me_ or something.” He was starting to ramble, Arthur noticed fondly. Saving the boy the embarrassment of letting his mouth run again, he turned slightly and grabbed Alfred by his collar.

He _was_ going to execute his plan. He had to. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Alfred be the better of them in this – he was fairly sure Alfred was as experienced as Gilbert’s brother, who was still stumbling around his recently acquired boyfriend.

Alfred seemed to anticipate what was going to happy, because instead of it going smoothly as Arthur had planned, Alfred was too enthusiastic and they bumped their noses quite harshly. Flinching and retreating slightly, Alfred managed to bump his head to the ceiling of the car. Alfred looked positively terrified. Arthur only felt warmer and warmer.

“Come here, you dolt.” He said, reaching for the other again. This time Alfred allowed Arthur to take the lead, fortunately, looking at the other with the biggest, most bewildered set of blue eyes Arthur had ever seen. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

He felt Alfred’s hand gently landing on his neck as he was pulled towards him to close the distance. Arthur felt warm, moist lips on his own, and more than that didn’t really happen at first. He felt the other boy was as tense as a stick beneath his own hands on his shoulders.

Smirking, Arthur coaxed his lips into moving with his own, glad that he hadn’t worn rings in his lips that night. The experience would probably be a lot more exciting for Alfred if he had, but this way Arthur could enjoy the contact without the steel obstruction between them.

Though he did have another perk. Deepening the kiss, he not only swallowed Alfred’s muffled grunt of surprise, but also his grunt of _something else_ as he slid his tongue piercing across the other boy’s lips. He knew the stereotype about tongue piercings, and he was fairly sure Alfred’s mind had gone down the gutter.

He cursed the car – he had half a mind to climb over the gear and onto the other’s lap as Alfred seemed to regain his confidence and tugged the other closer, battling for dominance over the kiss. Instead the cramp in his side reminded him of the awkward position he was in, and as they parted for breath he leant back.

He _really_ wanted to lean back and continue, but he chose against it, relishing in how wonderfully unravelled the other suddenly looked. Licking his lips he delighted in how Alfred’s eyes immediately dropped and followed.

“Good night, love.” Arthur instead opted for drawling, curling his lips in a suggestive smirk. He opened the door and exited the car, leaning down slightly as to give Alfred one last look.

“Night, Artie.” Alfred had composed himself slightly again, absolutely radiating the brightness Arthur was slowly getting familiar with. It might have done funny things to his stomach.

Completely forgetting to argue on the nickname, Arthur hurried to his front porch and opened the front door. Looking back once more, Alfred had opened his window and leant out of his slightly. Alfred grinned boyishly at him, and this time it definitely did funny things to his stomach.  He tried to scowl, he did, but instead he raised his hand in a small wave as Alfred drove off.

 _Fuck me_.

He was getting in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I have no idea how big I want this thing to be. I hope I don't rush into things.. oh well!


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred had been terrible, once indulged. Arthur knew he could have kind of expected this, and though his exterior radiated annoyance – even he knew that he was lying to himself.

Thursday and Friday, Alfred had done everything in his power to charm the Brit, and it weakened Arthur’s resolve immensely. _Why_ was he so susceptible to the boy’s advances anyway? Arthur had a plan here that he needed to follow, but it was near impossible.

And Alfred was so _obvious._

He knew the boy wasn’t out or anything, but he doubted that people did _not_ think exactly what Arthur thought when they saw the two of them interacting in the hallways or classrooms.

First, Alfred was _always_ close to him if they were in the same room or hall. As in, touching distance close. Or he was actually touching the other. If he wasn’t randomly tugging the Brit towards their next class, then he was sitting next to him.

The one thing that he had yet to do, was join them for lunch, and Arthur wondered if that was because of Arthur’s company or because of Alfred’s team. He didn’t dwell on it though, he needed a breather. The constant attention was slowly but surely driving him insane – yet in classes where he didn’t see the other boy, he was feeling anxious and snappy, not calming down until he either saw one of his friends or was reunited with the boy again.

Francis and Gilbert had yet to take notice, thank _god._ Though Antonio definitely knew something. The Spaniard and his boyfriend were in the same Grad Transitions class as Alfred and Arthur, and even though Arthur usually sat down next to Antonio, this time he had all but been dragged to a set of tables by Alfred.

Out of sheer surprise at the two, Lovino had promptly sat down next to Antonio and had asked what the fuck was going on. Arthur pretended to not have noticed and instead focused on what Alfred was chatting about, positive that any more staring from the Spaniard was going to result in a very unattractively blushing Arthur.

But, bless his heart, Antonio didn’t say anything. He only gave Arthur suggestive smiles and winks during lunch, which Francis and Gilbert didn’t even notice. No, the two boys had better problems to worry about – for example, Francis was teasing Gilbert relentlessly. Or well, Arthur hoped he was teasing, because it would otherwise result in a fight sooner or later. Crowing about how attractive Matthew was and how Francis wouldn’t mind to take him home, he saw Gilbert losing his patience slowly.

Though it was rather hilarious – did that mean Gilbert was actually serious about the boy? That would be a sight.

He did find out all of them were going to the bonfire. Arthur had offhandedly commented on also going, to Francis’ great surprise. Everyone who knew Arthur – well except for Alfred perhaps – knew of Arthur’s hatred for the beach. Instead of letting them in on his date, he simply said he had nothing better to do and was damn sure not going to spend the weekend at home. Francis immediately accepted the explanation, fortunately.

During his constant interaction with Alfred, Arthur had managed to pick up more snippets here and there about the boy’s everyday life. For example, during a shared free period he had seen Alfred slave over his calculus homework, and seeing that set of brains put to work was rather attractive.

And he did have a serious complex what with the constant opening doors for Arthur, holding out chairs and even carrying his books once until Arthur had forcibly taken them back. It was charming, but embarrassing as hell.

Also, something was definitely up between Alfred and the weird Russian kid that gave Arthur chills sometimes – he was apparently on Alfred’s team as well. Arthur didn’t share classes with Ivan Braginski, but Alfred apparently did. After glaring each other down for the hundredth time in the hallways, Arthur had asked what was up with that, but Alfred had given a mysterious shrug.

He had wanted to continue prodding when they stumbled upon Ivan in the library on Friday afternoon, the boys exchanging the deadliest of glares again. Instead of listening to Arthur, Alfred had suddenly grabbed hold of his hand. As if he were winning some kind of pissing contest, he had proudly strutted through the library to their usual table, Arthur in tow.

Alfred ignoring his confusion meant it only piqued Arthur’s interest, but he was sure he would find out sooner or later. Right then he was more horrified with the interested glances of people around them – there was definitely going to be gossip.

Anyway, the boy was addictive to be around, he noticed. Hell, he had even almost gone to the boy’s practice before steering himself away, cursing himself. He had stomped back to the parking lot where Francis was waiting for him, a foul mood clouding the rest of his day. _Practice_ , really? Arthur was not some wanton girl.

On that particularly sunny October day that weekend, Arthur had agreed to being picked up. Entering the car, his heart dropped when he saw Matthew and Gilbert, the latter sporting an insane, smug grin, in the back seat.

He was fairly sure Alfred manipulated him into a calmer state with brushes of his hand across Arthur’s own and charming smiles and winks, not deflating a little bit when Arthur had snapped at him in annoyance.

The first ten minutes of the ride to the beach were exceptionally painful. Against better judgement, Alfred had let the couple sit in the backseat to save on gas, but he sorely regretted it, it seemed. Arthur agreed. Gilbert had been set on making Arthur and Alfred as uncomfortable as possible by snogging the living brains out of Matthew.

Alfred had eventually loudly complained about the disgusting noises coming from the backseat, and though Gilbert crowed that he should turn up the radio then, he did dislodge himself from the other boy. He quickly decided on another tactic though – driving Arthur up the wall instead.

“So birdie told me you were at the Jones house this week, huh?” _Of course_ Alfred would gossip about him with his brother. “Did he cook for you, Alfred? Man, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen him cook. Or tried.” He snorted as Arthur’s face heated up. “Judging by limey’s face he has. Did he burn your kitchen?”

“Shut the hell up!” Arthur all but shouted, feeling his voice rise in embarrassment. “I deliberately burn your food because I hope you choke, potato-fucker!”

Alfred was laughing however. “He burnt _soup_. I knew you could overcook soup, but _burn_ it?”

“You’re supposed to defend me, you tosser.” Arthur accused.

“Can’t fight your own battles?” Gilbert taunted. Matthew was watching the exchange with amused interest too, the wankers. “At least the awesome me wins all by himself!”

“I wouldn’t say that. World war two, baby!”

“That’s such a low blow!” Gilbert whined, turning his attention back to the American. “Especially coming from an American – you are still a lapdog to the British and you know it.”

“I don’t mind the whole _special relationship,_ ” Alfred crooned, winking openly at Arthur who scowled. “I’ll happily be a _lapdog_ to the _British_.”

“You are such a fraud.” Arthur complained when everyone laughed at the innuendo, even Matthew. He wasn’t able to go into a rant though, because Alfred smiled and moved his hand from the gear stick to grab his own. He watched with fascination as Alfred entwined their fingers, thumb rubbing circles on Arthur’s palm.

Gilbert’s attention was back on Matthew for the time being, and they stopped for a gas break soon after. In a rare moment of companionship, Gilbert and Arthur both went into the store, shoving at each other as they entered.

Knowing Alfred was always in for soda and snacks, he tossed a can of coke and a Mars on the counter before asking for some cigarettes as well. As usual, he wasn’t carded or anything, and he wasn’t even anxious about it anymore. Gilbert had his hands full on junk food behind him, but he left the boy to it and returned to the car.

Alfred’s face lit up at the gifts Arthur brought (as expected), but it soon contorted to a grimace as Arthur lit up a cigarette. He knew the boy hated smoking, and possibly wanted Arthur to quit, but like hell he was. And especially not because some boy he found insanely attractive wanted him to. Though he begrudgingly had to admit he had lessened his smoking a big deal already.

“It’s like anorexia,” Arthur said in reply to Alfred’s face. “You can’t quit any moment.”

“That’s a gruesome comparison, but okay.” Arthur sat on the passenger’s seat, legs swinging out of the open car door as Alfred finished up filling the car with gas. “I know how to get you quit anyway.”

“How-“ He faltered as Alfred took the cigarette out of his hands and threw it to the ground, stomping it out with his foot. He was about to comment on how dangerous that was in a gas station – there could have been a puddle of oil beneath them – when Alfred tugged him closer and pecked him on the lips.

He pushed the other way. “This is not some Hollywood movie.” But he graced the other with a small smile anyway, feeling warmer than he did before again. He was so badly getting in over his head, but Arthur couldn’t pull away.

“You don’t go out into the sun much, do you? Milky way.” He asked, obviously meaning Arthur’s white arms and legs. Arthur had chosen for shorts over his knee whereas Alfred had thrown caution out of the window and wore a swimming trunk and a hoodie.

“Well, I _am_ British.”

“I try to avoid the stereotypes, you know, but you don’t make it easy.” That was so hypocritical, the boy was a bloody American stereotype on two feet.

“Do you want a reward? I’m not going to snog you senseless in the backseat.”

“Too bad. But Mattie hates to  drive and I sure as hell won’t let Gilbert drive my baby. Wait, can you drive?”

“No.” Arthur grumbled, looking away a little. He knew practically any kid their age was able to drive already, so it was kind of a sore subject, but he couldn’t afford it anyway.

“Okay, no biggie. You don’t have a curfew by the way, right? Lame question, of course you don’t. If you want to go home later just ask.”

“I’m sleeping over at Francis’.”

 _Wrong_ thing to say. You see, Francis didn’t know he was going to show up with Alfred in the first place. They had automatically agreed that he would go back with Francis, as Francis didn’t feel like picking anyone up for the weekend. Really, they usually always drove back together, and usually Arthur always stayed with the Frenchman, favouring his house over his own.

But as he saw Alfred’s face contort in something strange – that had to be anger or jealousy – he realized he had said the wrong thing. Feeling strangely excited at the other’s expression, Arthur waited for the boy to choose his words.

“Why?”

He could give the long-ass explanation that passed in Arthur’s mind previous, but he wasn’t sure if that’d do the situation any good. “I usually do.” He said instead, looking up at the other in anticipation. “Something wrong?”

Alfred pushed himself away from the car, shaking his head. “No, whatever. Do what you want.” Oh he was so very obviously jealous. How adorable.

He was basking in the feeling of someone actually being jealous over him – knowing that Alfred felt that way did strange things to his stomach that he rather liked, he couldn’t even remember if anyone had ever been jealous over him after all. But it proved to be kind of a mood killer during the remainder of their ride to the beach. Alfred wasn’t tapping or humming along with the music, and he barely responded to Gilbert’s taunts. Arthur even tried brushing his hand against the boy’s own, insinuating they hold hands again, but it went ignored.

And that kind of did other things to Arthur, less pleasant things. Sighing, he decided he might as well clear it up. It was kind of a risk to do it in the presence of the other two, but he could handle it.

“So, is Matthew sleeping at yours tonight?” He asked, turning to Gilbert slightly.

Matthew smiled. “No, he’s staying at ours. Might as well if we carpool already. Are you going back home tonight?”

“I was thinking about staying at yours too, actually. Save Alfred the trouble of driving around town at night.”

Gilbert snorted but Arthur’s attentions were on the other boy. Alfred tensed, before relaxing all in the span of two seconds. The hard look in his face softened already, and Arthur knew his mission was accomplished. Though when Alfred suddenly started blushing a little, he knew exactly where the other boy’s thoughts were.

Matthew nodded at him. “So long as you two don’t make too much noise.”

Alfred positively shone with embarrassment. “Mattie, what the hell?

“Yeah, if anyone is going to be screaming it’s probably you, birdie.”

“Gilbert, that’s my fucking brother, gross!”

“I’ll be fucking him, all right.”

Arthur couldn’t help it – he started laughing. Matthew’s slightly embarrassed expression, Alfred’s horrified one, and Gilbert’s smug smirk, it was a wonderful combination. Gilbert joined in on the chuckles, and eventually Alfred and Matthew relaxed again.

Alfred muttered some threats at the German to which Matthew claimed he was perfectly able to take care of himself, thank you very much, and not soon after they arrived at the beach. He recognized Antonio’s and Francis’ car, and Gilbert said something about spotting Mathias’ ugly car. He wondered if their entire year was there, or if it was just the trouble maker part of their year.

Apparently Arthur and Matthew had the same idea, as they wandered away and let the others do all the lifting. Alfred complained royally about being ditched with Gilbert, shutting up when Arthur sent him a half-hearted glare.

“He really likes you, you know.” Matthew said to him as they approached the centre of the party. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was about to speak his mind when Francis crashed their conversation, draping himself over Arthur. He clearly mistook Matthew for Alfred for a moment, because he faltered in his physical attention.

The moment he saw Gilbert and Alfred approaching, he renewed his vigour, much to Arthur’s amusement and irritation.

“ _Ma biche_! I was afraid you were going to stand me up.” He called loudly, before leaning over a little and lowering his voice. “You came with Alfred? You tease. Why don’t you share your juicy information with me, huh? I’m hurt.”

“Oh sod off, frog.” Arthur said, shoving the Frenchman off of him once he saw Alfred looking rather darkly their way.

“I am surprised you convinced him to come!” Francis said, turning to Alfred. “He does hate the beach so.”

“He does?” Alfred quipped, a confused look on his face. Arthur resisted the urge to slap his own face, the suspicious, jealous look was stuck on the boy’s face again and Arthur was growing tired of it. “You do?”

Arthur grabbed the blanket Alfred was balancing on top of other stuff. “Don’t listen to him.” He said, kicking sand at the Frenchman who jumped away. They carried their stuff over to where Gilbert and Matthew were. Ironically, that meant it was Arthur’s group they were at.

And he knew Alfred was faced with a conflict as he was called by his team mates on the other side of what was going to be the bonfire. Arthur smirked, he wouldn’t mind the other going to his own friends after all. If any, his own friends were probably only going to embarrass the poor lad. 

“You can go, if you want.” He said nonchalantly. Alfred looked relieved, but it kind of disappointed Arthur when he actually _did_ go over to his buddies. He had actually expected Alfred to stay with him, because they were here on a date right? Shows what he knows. Knowing reputation would be important to Alfred, Arthur sat himself down, trying to ignore the foul mood itching in his head.

 _“¡Hola amigos!”_ Antonio bellowed once his friends arrived. An angry looking Lovino sat beside him, munching on a tomato. He noticed Gilbert’s younger brother was here too, as was the other Italian in their school. Feliciano had a blissful expression on his face as he was chattering to his brother in Italian, Lovino grunting occasionally in response.

“I do hope anything edible brought was not made by Arthur?” Francis helpfully said as he sat down next to Arthur, skilfully avoiding a slap in the face. Instead of indulging his friends more, Francis leant a little closer to Arthur. “Now tell me about Alfred and your progress or I’ll spank it out of you.”

“First, you are disgusting. Second, there’s nothing to tell.” Francis immediately started picking at the Brit’s hair and clothes in annoyance.

 _“C’est des conneries!_ Gilbert texted me during your lovely car ride with the boy.”

Of course he would. What an ass.

“Fine, fine, get off already. I went to the brat’s house this week, okay? It was fun. End of story.”

“Fun? You never have fun. What about this plan of yours?”

 “Will you keep it down! He could hear you.” Sighing, he relented. “I don’t know, I kissed him, I guess.”

Understanding dawned upon Francis’ features, though he seemed to be a little more serious than usual all of a sudden. “You are developing a crush on him, _non_?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“Nonsense. _L’amour_ is a wonderful thing!” _Of course_ Francis would say that. “Besides, he is rather enamoured with you as well. I can’t believe he sees me as a threat, _c’est drôle!_ ”

“You _are_ a threat to my sanity.” Arthur reminded, though face softening to something more playful already. He mulled over Francis’ words – would it really be so bad if he forgone his plan and… gave in to this silly little crush? It’s not as if the results would differ.

“And to his as well. You better go up to him before he glares me into oblivion, by the way. What if he challenges me to a duel? It wouldn’t be pretty to see him lose spectacularly.”

Looking around and seeing that, Alfred had indeed been looking their direction with a glum expression, he sighed. What a fool. Nevertheless, he swiftly stood up, dusting the sand of his trousers and walking over the where the boy was standing.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He greeted with a smirk. Alfred’s face fell a little, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Yeah sorry, but I told them I had more important things to do.”

“Things?”

“Okay, okay. Don’t worry, I _told_ them I was on a date. Kinda makes me want to see their faces when they realize it’s you, though.” Arthur could get behind that.

“One of their own being queer, I do hope their fragile masculinity survives the blow.”

“Oh shut up, that’s awful.” Alfred said, laughing all the same. “They’re cool, okay? They might be idiots and blunt, but so am I. They respect me and they better respect my… eh, you know.”

“Love life?”

“I was going to go for choices but yeah, that too.” Arthur smiled, rather endeared by it all. Though not openly telling his team who exactly he was with, this was good enough. They’d figure out sooner or later because Arthur planned to spend the rest of his evening with him to test whether or not he really had a crush on the boy. “Want to get a drink?”

The boy even held out his _hand._ If Arthur were a girl, he was sure he’d melt. As it was, he was just pleasantly amused. Taking his hand all the same, he let Alfred drag him to where the drinks were stalled out. Midway they were interrupted however.

“ _Privet_ ,” Ivan Braginski sneered. Arthur gagged, he was not in the mood for some pissing match right now. “I see what they said was true.”

“Get lost commie.” Alfred’s entire demeanour changed however. He was happy-go-lucky when he was able to hold Arthur and drag him to the drinks, but that changed abruptly, his entire body now tense and face set in a cold look. Arthur was momentarily fascinated.

“Is this your _shalava_?”

“Go English or go home, or are you incapable of even that?” Arthur comically noticed that people around them were watching with interest, as if a fall out between the two boys happened more often. Knowing of all the glares that passed the two, it probably did.

“I always knew you were a faggot, _da_. Though I would think you would pick a prettier slut.”

Wow, wait a minute. Arthur was not going to stand here and be insulted. He was already on edge with all these conflicting feelings – and he definitely did not need this to the mix.

“Excuse me?” He venomously interrupted Alfred.

“I was not talking to you, you fucking fairy.”

It had been a while since Arthur had been in a physical fight with anyone other than his brother, he reminisced. He wasn’t even sure what it had been about, probably some quarrel about his eyebrows, or just tension between a fellow schoolmate. Hell, he could have been drunk, he had been known to get even worse when drunk. Usually he picked fights only with people his own size however, because he knew that he at least had to be reasonable with his own wellbeing.

That didn’t stop him from releasing Alfred and barrel into the Russian kid, however.

He was rather proud that the first hit he landed, square on the jaw, actually did make that Ivan guy stumble backwards, even though he had to resist cradling his fist afterwards. Son of a bitch, he probably hit the bone instead of flesh. He managed to land a rather mean kick to the kneecaps too, and even if he had to expect it, he didn’t. Ivan’s own fist connected harshly with his shoulder, and he was rather surprised by the sheer amount of strength behind it.

He broke another rule – don’t pick fights with members of the football team. They were freakishly strong.

He tripped when he stumbled backwards, falling on his butt with an incredulous expression on his face. Fear momentarily gripped him as he saw the murderous looking Russian head for him, but he was instead tackled to the ground himself by Alfred.

As usual with a fist fight, people around them started to complain or cheer. He too, watched in fascination, as Alfred and Ivan all but rolled through the sands, fists connecting with each other faces. Moving his arms a little, he noticed the agonizing soreness in his shoulder. Well, shit, he hoped it wasn’t dislocated. Rolling his shoulder proved that it wasn’t, much to his relief. Still, it would be a pain in the ass for at least a few days.

Arthur was just glad he missed his face, to be honest. And that he himself had managed to actually get a hit on the other’s face, the smug bastard.

Eventually Alfred was on top, and he definitely heard a crack when his fist connected with the other boy’s nose. Morbidly fascinated, Arthur accepted help from someone to stand up. He realized it was actually Lukas, who looked at him with concern.

“ _For helvede,_ Alfred, get up.” In front of him he noticed Berwald and Mathias approaching the fighting couple, Mathias firmly locking his arms around Alfred’s shoulders as he pulled him of the Russian. Ivan wasted no time in getting up, but his assault on the American was halted when Berwald held him back much the same. “Get off it, Ivan.” Matias threatened, keeping a tight lock on Alfred until Berwald all but dragged the other away from the crowd.

Right, never pick a fight with Berwald too. Man was a freaking giant.

Alfred shrugged himself lose violently, glaring at Mathias. “I had it under control man.”

“And when someone would’ve called the cops, huh? There’s way too much booze here considering we’re all underage. Do us all a favour and avoid each other.”

The crowd had already dispersed in search of other excitement, Arthur pushing out of Lukas’ grasp once he was standing more stable. Alfred’s eyes zeroed in on him then, and he all but rushed over to the Brit.

“Artie, are you okay? I swear to god I will fuck that ruski up, did he hurt you?”

“He fucking send me tripping, what the hell do you think?” he sighed at Alfred’s hurt expression. “I’ll live.” Lukas had already gone back to his friends along with Mathias, leaving the two boys alone. Arthur frowned up at Alfred. His glasses weren’t broken, fortunately. He had a split lip, and his cheek was definitely going to bruise. Other than that he looked okay.

Arthur felt rather high on excitement from what just happened however. He hardly even felt his own injury as he looked up into Alfred’s concerned eyes. Alfred still looked on edge, as if ready to turn around and rip the Russian a new one, but Arthur’s hands on his arms grounded him.

Though he felt rather disgusted with himself – how could he possibly be aroused by that? That was horrible. Alfred had probably broken the poor sod’s nose.

After checking that Arthur wasn’t lying about his own injury, Alfred relaxed a little and offered him a crooked grin. “I have to give it to ya Art, that was fucking hot.”

Wait what?

“Are you quite serious?” Arthur asked, amazed. It wasn’t that he was confused by what Alfred said, rather by that Alfred was thinking the same thing as him.

“Yeah! I had no idea you could even move that fast. And the look on his face, priceless!”

Arthur couldn’t help it – his heart positively swelled. This idiot, stupid, overenthusiastic puppy of a boy. What a wanker, he was. He decided he could care less about Alfred’s split lip, and instead leaned up to grab the other by his collar and drag him down. Alfred made a surprised, muffled noise as he covered his lips over the American’s, Alfred’s surprise immediately giving him access to deepen the kiss.

He could taste the blood on Alfred’s lip, but he _didn’t_ care. There was Alfred, wonderful and stupid Alfred, who apparently was just as twisted as him. And Arthur probably, most likely, had a crush on him. As if his world needed to get any more complicated.

He felt Alfred’s arms snake around him, his hands actually having the gall to rest on his butt and squeeze, but he let it slip in favour of tangling his hands in the other boy’s wheat blonde hair. Someone hooted loudly at them, and Arthur supposed they got rather too far into it with being in public and all.

Breaking apart, Alfred breathed heavily, looking down at the Brit with an amazed expression. “Okay, so does that mean I have to beat up guys more often or?”

“How about you leave the trouble making to me, wonder-boy.” Arthur teased, openly playing with his tongue stud. Alfred followed the movement hungrily, looking as if he wanted to dive back in, but Arthur pushed him away. That was enough PDA as it was.

Besides, they had company.

“Alfred,” Matthew started scolding, but Alfred groaned.

“He fucking started it, dude.”

“Yes, but did you have to make a scene again? How many times do I have to tell you to be the grown up and ignore him?”

Behind the twins, Francis, Antonio and Lovino approached Arthur. “ _Amigo_ , you okay? You looked like a bag of beans for a moment.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.”

“At least he did something.” Lovino grumbled. At Antonio’s confused frown, he threw his hands in the air wildly. “When that Turkish bastard harassed me you sure as hell did nothing! Man, even the limey is braver than you.”

Antonio looked heartbroken for a second. “Lovi! I totally did go after him, you know I did.” The rest of the conversation continued in Spanish or Italian or a mix of both, as the boys continued on towards the drink stand. Francis sighed.

“You messed up your already messed up face again,” He tutted, picking at Arthur’s hair. Arthur scowled and pushed him off. “Did he hurt you?” The protectiveness in his voice calmed Arthur down slightly. Horrible friends or not, he was certain that if he wanted it, he could have the Bad Friends Trio, or whatever they called themselves, make Ivan’s life horrible. Hell, Arthur could do it himself, he had resources. But he didn’t see the need.

“I’m fine, stop treating me like a child.” He said instead. Francis dutifully took a step back from invading the other’s space when Alfred and Matthew turned to them again, Alfred already glaring  at the Frenchman. “No need to glare, _américain._ He’s all yours.”

It didn’t appease Alfred’s glare, but Francis and Matthew managed a clean escape nonetheless. Sighing, Arthur grabbed his hand and tugged him away from the party a little, until they were in a calmer area. He sat down facing the sea, the seas calmly lapping at the shores. Alfred reluctantly joined him, pressing their sides together.

“My face is going to hurt like shit tomorrow.” Alfred eventually complained, rubbing at his cheek. Arthur snorted.

“It’s not as if they have icepacks at a beach, you’ve made your bed and now you have to lie in it. ”

“Hey, I totally saved your ass there. He would’ve beaten you to a pulp!”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Alfred lean back on his arms, one arm behind Arthur, and he idly felt Alfred’s hand playing with the sand near his hip. “Heaven knows your glasses won’t fit if it swells any more.”

“Asshole.” Alfred childishly said, laughing as he stuck out his tongue. Arthur smirked, shaking his head. “Now they all know about you though. They can eat their heart out.” Hearing him say that so carelessly made Arthur feel better instantly. He wasn’t about to be someone’s dirty little secret, after all.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, staring at the sea in front of them. A voice in the back of his nagged that it almost felt romantic, but Arthur quickly killed that voice in favour of his pride. Eventually the soreness in Arthur’s shoulder got a little worse, and he leaned away from the boy. He had been pressing his shoulder into the other boy’s chest, and that wasn’t really comfortable.

Curious about the damage, he lifted his shirt up off his head to inspect the damage. He gleefully noticed the sudden flush on Alfred’s cheeks as he bared his upper body, but really, it was nothing the boy hadn’t seen before.

His flustered expression grew more concerned when he saw the bruise forming on his shoulder. “Shit, that looks nastier than I had expected.” He said, raising his hand to idly let his fingers dance across the bruise. It was cold, but Alfred was gentle and it didn’t hurt at least.

Waiting for it, Arthur smirked when Alfred’s eyes instead zeroed on the other two novelties. Alternating between curiosity at the tattoo on Arthur’s ribs and the suggestive look and fluster on his cheeks at the nipple piercing, Alfred seemed to be quite lost, hand still on the other’s shoulder.

Deciding the tattoo would at least need a little explaining, Arthur bend a little as to show it better. It was nothing small, because for his first tattoo he had been rather nervous about the pain and the permanence of it. It was a rather simplified version of a lion. He probably had a big explanation behind it once, but all he could come up with now was that it most likely had something to do with his homeland.

And tattooing the Union Jack on your body would be so crass.

“Any more tattoos or piercings I should know about?”

Arthur gave the boy a suggestive, sly grin first. Realizing his innuendo, Alfred flushed a deeper shade of red, scoffing a little.

“I _do_ actually have one more tattoo. A six-string. Finding out where, is your task.”

“I think I know.” Alfred said after his eyes slid to the other’s legs to his behind. Arthur had been drunk when he had actually gotten it tattooed, because leave it to Gilbert to have him make bad decisions. He hadn’t been able to sit down properly for _days_. 

He shrugged his shirt back on after assessing the damage, knowing that because he lacked an ice pack, the swelling would stay longer. They decided to just as well re-join the others again, the bonfire already up and going. Alfred happily grabbed the others hand again, and followed him to Arthur’s group of friends this time. Though when he spotted Francis sitting there as well, he wasted no time in tugging the Brit down on is lap instead of next to him.

Arthur had half a mind to punch him in the face and demand to be released, but he decided to give in. Everybody was already going to never let him live this down, might as well make the most of it. It didn’t help however, that whenever Francis was giving him a smug, hilarious look, Alfred would mistake it for something else. He sighed as he felt Alfred’s lips in his neck _again_ , patting the hand on his waist soothingly.

The jealousy thing had to be quieted down sooner or later, but it was obviously not happening that night.

He was rather surprised with himself later that night, as they climbed back into the car, with the fact that he had managed to not get drunk. Under these circumstances, nobody would’ve blamed him, he was sure. Instead he took his time with drinks so as to not feel anything more than a pleasant buzz. He had eventually extracted himself from the other’s lap, feeling more and more ridiculous by the second because of it.

Behind them, Matthew heavily leant against Gilbert as the latter was playing a game on his phone. Alfred turned on the radio but kept it on a low volume as they drove away and back to the city.  The ride was uneventful, because Arthur managed to doze off during it.

The four boys entered the house, and even though it was well after midnight, Arthur realized he was hearing voices from the kitchen nonetheless. Both the brothers tensed, Alfred whispering a ‘fuck’. Matthew smiled apologetically before practically fleeing upstairs with a snickering Gilbert.

“Alfred, there you are.” He whirled around to see a middle-aged, rather chubby looking woman coming out of the kitchen. She wore a sweet smile as she approached the boys.

“Rosie, this is Arthur. Arthur, my stepmom.” Alfred said, tensely looking over the woman’s shoulder. “He’s, eh, a friend from school. He can stay over, right?”

Bewildered at the fact that Matthew hadn’t even introduced Gilbert or had asked the same, Arthur watched the exchange, smiling politely. He noticed her eyes linger on his piercings but she didn’t react to them otherwise.

“Goodness, what happened to your face? You know how your father thinks of you fighting.”

“I know, I know. I’ll try to stay out of trouble next time.”

As if he had heard them, a man stepped out of the kitchen. He looked _surprisingly_ much like an older Alfred, though he had much the same posture as Arthur’s own stepfather otherwise. He wore an expensive looking suit though, as if he had just returned from work.

“Didn’t know you’d be back already, dad.” Alfred greeted, nodding at the older man.

“I caught a flight earlier. It’s well past your bedtime young man. I’ll allow this,” He nodded to Arthur. _This?_ It was almost as if he wasn’t there. And why the hell did that sound so condescending? “For tonight, but call ahead in the future.” The man and woman said their goodnights before disappearing into the living room. Alfred all but dragged Arthur upstairs, manoeuvring through hallways before entering his own room.

It was Arthur’s first time actually in the boy’s room, and he acutely noticed how different from the rest of the house it was. Whereas the rest of the house practically screamed rich and mansion, Alfred’s room looked a lot more common. Actually, it looked a lot like Arthur’s own, aside from the bed being a twin instead of a single.

The desk was scattered with school papers and books, and there was a tiny television in the corner with a GameCube hooked in it. Games and DVD cases were scattered around that area as well, there also being a large cabinet next to it filled with the stuff. He even noticed the laundry basket near the door, Alfred’s football attire hanging out of it. Wrinkling his nose at that, he took a deliberate step away from it and instead looked at the walls. There was a poster of NASA on one wall (how adorable), and a few photos pinned to another. Near his desk his wall was covered with papers and notes.

“Sorry for the mess.” Alfred said after locking the door, noticing Arthur was looking around.

“Weren’t you expecting your parents?” Arthur instead replied, moving to the bed to sit down on it. Alfred sighed as he rummaged through a closet. With satisfaction Arthur noticed a door opposite of the room – that probably meant Alfred had his own bathroom, too.

“My dad was supposed to be in Europe until tomorrow night.” Alfred said, kicking off his shoes. “So… yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

“And you’re irked by that.” It wasn’t a question really, but Arthur felt that outright asking the other about his relationship with his dad was hardly appropriate. Alfred read the atmosphere correctly though, scowling a little as he sat on the chair at his desk.

“We’re not exactly best buds.”

He clearly didn’t want to talk about, but he did, to which Arthur felt a little grateful. He hated being a snoop, so if his curiosity was sated without him forcing it, that was wonderful.

“He’s hardly ever home, and expects me to be like him, y’know? I never do anything correct, or whatever. I swear if it weren’t for Rosie, he would actually ground me every time I lose a game or flunk a test or whatever. And he acts like Mattie doesn’t even exist, too.”

“How so?”

“I told you that after the divorce my mum and dad didn’t speak, right? Well, dad never spoke to Mattie either. It’s almost as if he disowned him or something for going with mum, it’s ridiculous. Even now, he’s always so focused on me.”

The question burning in Arthur’s mind however, hadn’t been answered yet. He decided he might as well ask. “So does he know about, this?” Waving a hand between them, Alfred’s expression turned worse.

“Nah. I mean, Mattie came out of the closet recently and he didn’t even care. Then again he never seems to care about anything Mattie says, so I wonder if he even heard it. But whatever. I think he’ll lose his shit if I do the same though. You don’t mind do you? He’s almost never home anyway, and Rosie is okay I guess. She wouldn’t rat me out anyhow.”

Seems like he and Alfred shared more similarities than Arthur had initially thought. Difference is that Arthur honestly couldn’t care less, whereas Alfred obviously seemed to hold his dad’s opinion in some regard.  He sighed and shook his head, it wasn’t as if it would be any trouble. Probably.

“Borrow me some clothes, would you? I reek of sea and smoke.”

Happy to change the subject, Alfred whipped out a t-shirt and sweatpants out of the closet quickly. Keeping some sense of privacy, Alfred disappeared into the adjoined bathroom with it. He hurried to finish up still, feeling more tired than ever. Once back he saw Alfred had already changed, laughing when he saw Arthur’s face. The shirt was doable, hanging around him as if it were a bloody cape, but the sweatpants had to be held up and he almost tripped over the excess at his feet.

“Shut up, you tosser.” Arthur complained, shuffling over to the bed. Alfred promptly situated himself on the other side, smiling widely.

“You have _no_ idea how adorable that looks.”

“I’ll show you how adorable my fist up close is.”

They settled for bed, both playing around a little on their phones before shutting off the lights. In the dark and turned to each other, Arthur could definitely see Alfred staring at him. “Do you…” Alfred trailed off there, apparently reconsidering his words.

Arthur couldn’t help it, the boy was walking right into that one. “I am not having sex with you whilst your parents are awake and downstairs.” Who was he kidding, that didn’t mean shit to Arthur. Still, it was fun to see Alfred’s reaction.

It had the desired effect. Alfred all but jolted, sitting up slightly. “Oh my god, no, I didn’t mean that. I was going to ask if I could hold you or something!”

“I know.” Arthur said, laughing a little. “I do kick in my sleep, I’ve heard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So... yes?”

“You better hurry before I change my mind.” Arthur replied. Within seconds Alfred was back under the covers and closer than before, one arm hesitatingly wrapping itself around Arthur’s back. He tensed at the sudden tenderness – he had _never_ cuddled in bed before. Hell, he had never cuddled anywhere before, other than with his mum when he was like three years old. It felt entirely too odd for him, and he almost wanted to move away. But Alfred relaxed, his thumb rubbing over Arthur’s back slightly.

He’d kick the other away in his sleep anyway, Arthur thought as he allowed sleep to take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C’est des connories – That/this is bullshit  
> C’est drôle – it’s funny
> 
> oh man, I just realized that in both of my published stories Russia is kind of an asshole. But I love him D: I have a new story in the making though, where he'll be a sweetheart. Sorry Russia lovers :')


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a lil' smut!

Arthur couldn’t bloody believe himself.

It was nearly the beginning of December, and it was _cold._ His face was practically buried underneath a scarf that Francis’ mom had once knit for him, but the wind still bit at his ears. He had forgotten his gloves, because of _course_ he had, so he had to stuff his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

That was another thing. He didn’t really have a good winter-coat, so he was always stuck with his usual one. But as he had been dragged over here later, Alfred had noticed his shivering and cold skin and had promptly dwarfed the Brit in his own bomber jacket.

Which, Arthur had to admit albeit with a grudge, was warmer than he had expected it to be. It was also bloody heavy, and it smelled of Alfred. Or it smelled of his sweat, grease and oil, he noted with a sniff of disgust. And he was certain he smelled McDonalds on it too, but he wasn’t going to delve too deep in the matter.

No, it reeked. That was what he told himself when he buried his face in the collar and inhaled the heavenly smell of his – well, what were they? He didn’t know what they were. Ever since that bonfire thing in October, Arthur had more or less resigned himself to having a crush on the boy.

They had been doing this thing, whatever it was, for a little more than a month. He hadn’t even known it was possible to be with someone for this long. Though he was fairly certain Alfred thought of him as a boyfriend (Arthur could hardly think the word let alone say it) and all, they’ve never actually talked about it. Arthur usually avoided the subject. And, knowing that Arthur wasn’t fooling around with other people, Alfred often accepted that.

It was just so very odd for Arthur. He had done the things that came with having a lover – but he had never actually had one, so to speak. Hell, he had never even gone on dates before Alfred appeared. And for Alfred, it was the other way around. He did have two girlfriends before, but had never done anything more than innocent kissing. More often than not they clashed about it – though not in a fighting way, more in an embarrassed way.

In other words – Arthur was really turned on, and Alfred was really shy. It infuriated him – Alfred wasn’t afraid for a little PDA, and  he was definitely all for the lewd innuendo’s, plus he was the extremely grabby type. Arthur could also not keep count of how many times he was called babe, baby, good lookin’ or sexy.

But every time Arthur would climb in his lap or try to rid the ridiculously handsome boy of his shirt, Alfred would falter. He had half a mind to get the boy drunk and see what would change, but Alfred was better at holding his liquor and it would probably end up in Arthur being drunk instead. 

And the boy was definitely not good for Arthur’s image. Christ, he was turning into Antonio at this rate. He hardly ever smoked with Alfred around anymore, and he was considering removing his bridge. Not because Alfred wanted to, though. One time when Arthur had been over at the Jones’ house, Alfred’s stepmother had been home. While he went to use the men’s room, he heard Rosie gossip to Alfred about how she thought the piercings were so weird and that it meant Arthur was bad news.

Alfred had defended him perhaps a little too obviously for someone who wanted to hide their relationship to his parents, but Arthur had instinctively wanted to remove the blighted thing.

At home he smoked four cigarettes in a row with how stupid he was acting – as if he cared what Alfred’s family thought of him!

Besides, the only person Alfred obviously wanted approval from was Matthew. Well, weird daddy issues aside, then. And Matthew couldn’t really judge in the first place, but he and Arthur genuinely got along anyway.

And _Alfred –_ the boy was a bloody tornado, with how much energy he always had. Sometimes Arthur just wanted to be lazy for an afternoon or evening, just lie around and do absolutely nothing. No, Alfred always had plans for them, and if they really couldn’t go anywhere, then they had to game, or watch a movie, or _something_.

It was working on his nerves, but the problem was that every time Arthur simply denied Alfred an evening together in favour of being lazy, cooped up in his room – he couldn’t stand it. He unlearned being able to have his alone time, or something. Or well, he unlearned having alone lazy time – he definitely needed alone time or else no homework would ever be finished.

And he bloody knew that Alfred knew what he was doing too. Sometimes Arthur knew he was being manipulated by bright smiles, boyish attitudes or romantic gestures. It made him want to gag and it made him want to grab the boy and snog his brain out. Really, really confusing.

Which brings us to Arthur’s current situation. He was _actually_ at Alfred’s game, as if he were some lovesick girl who was cheering her sweetheart on. He had hit rock-bottom, this had to be it. He could not possibly sink any lower.

Gilbert was here too, but only against his will. The boy wasn’t even sneering or making jokes, just sitting down with a sullen expression on his face. That probably had something to do with the fact that Matthew was here too.

Arthur had heard Gilbert try to persuade Matthew earlier, to just come home with him instead of watching a boring football match, but Matthew was relentless and didn’t give in. So instead of going home by himself, he had sat himself next to his boyfriend, knowing that even a snogging session wasn’t in the agenda.

Seeing Gilbert so completely wrapped around Matthew’s little finger, well, that _was_ a little hilarious.

But the girls in front row who obviously had crushes on the members of the football team, and who were all glaring and pointing at him were not. It was pretty obvious who the bomber jacket belongs to – only one person in their year would wear something this obnoxious. And it was probably pretty obvious why Arthur was wearing it, too.

Though it warmed his heart a little, Arthur was mostly just annoyed at the huge willingness Alfred showed to make their ‘relationship’ known to the entire school. If he wasn’t clinging to Arthur’s hand, he was pecking him on the lips or cheek or head or whatever.

Frankly said he was the perfect Hollywood boyfriend, whatever that meant. It also meant Arthur had slapped him up the head more times than he could count, because he could definitely pay for his own lunch and carry his own books. Bloody tosser.

But if all that public affection hadn’t been enough confirmation – Alfred running up the field with his mates and enthusiastically waving and making lewd gestures towards where Arthur was sitting with Matthew was more than enough. As was the violent shade of red Arthur turned in mortification.

Hell, he didn’t even understand the game, despite Matthew doing his best to explain. He had no idea whether or not what everyone was doing was allowed, or if it was good for their team, and he supposed they scored every time the crowd went wild because he was utterly lost. The only reason he was even able to keep eyes on Alfred was because of the ‘Jones’ on his back, and even then he more often than not lost the boy.

He supposed he could get into some of the excitement – much like Matthew’s ice hockey games, it was rather exciting to watch Alfred be so violent with the members of the opposite team. Was that sick of him? He didn’t care.

The crowd settled from another supposed goal, the boys on the field clearly trying to impress, and Gilbert rose to complain and get some drinks.

“He’s showing off now that you’re here.” Matthew said after a while, nodding to the field. Of course he would.

“He’s going to break something if he keeps that up.” Arthur commented, noticing on how Alfred was indeed being a little more exaggerated than usual. Not as if Arthur could know. He hadn’t been to his practices or whatever. Okay, he had been to _one_ bloody practice, but only to drag the wanker to a party afterwards. _One time._ “I see you and Gilbert are doing well.”

Matthew smiled a little. “He just needs someone to boss him around.” Arthur had a hard time imagining the meek Canadian bossing anyone around, but okay.

Gilbert returned with more friends in tow, and Arthur groaned but nonetheless shifted over a little to make room for them. Francis opted to sit down next to him, his eyes pointedly on the bomber jacket for a while before handing Arthur a bottle of beer. _Where_ they had found beer on school ground was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

“Do my eyes betray me, _rosbif_? Are you and him, let’s say, exclusive now?”

“Fuck no.” Okay, no that was a lie. “Perhaps. Probably.”

Francis looked a little serious for a moment, apparently thinking about something. Arthur was almost going to call him out on it – the look was so not-Francis after all, when he spoke up again. “Then I see I owe Gilbert ten dollars. Your eyebrows are not contagious after all.”

“The hell they are, the only thing that's contagious around here are your sexual diseases.”

“We both know I don’t have those, _ma biche_.”

“Don’t imply such a thing!” Arthur softly punched him in the shoulder for extra emphasis, glaring. He heard Matthew laugh about them, Gilbert calling them names. Feliciano and Ludwig were also there apparently, on Gilbert’s side. He was momentarily disgusted when he noticed Feliciano actually sitting on the damn German’s lap, happily chatting about something.

He managed not to beat his friend up the rest of the game, and apparently their team had won, so that was good. At least that meant he hadn’t been waiting in the cold for what felt like _hours_ only to have Alfred be glum for the rest of the evening.

As fate would have it, he mocked himself for being a good little girlfriend and followed the rest downstairs to meet Alfred. They were going to a diner later on, as was Matthew’s and Alfred’s tradition, and Gilbert, Arthur, Francis, Ludwig and Feliciano were planning to tag along. Apparently Ludwig had been on the team too, but had quit because it took too much of his time. Arthur hadn’t even known Alfred had been buds with the German, before all this.

With all his gear on, Alfred looked even bigger as usual, practically towering over Arthur as he ran down the path to greet them. He was sweaty too, his hair plastered to his forehead.

 _Gross_. Arthur ducked and affectionately ruffled his hair as Alfred tried to peck him on the lips.

 “I totally gotta go shower, you guys can go ahead.”

“Nonsense, we can wait. Just hurry up.” Matthew retorted, rolling his eyes.

“They got showers here? Nice.” Gilbert said with a leer. “Maybe while we’re waiting you and I could-“ his hand found his way to Matthew’s butt, who yelped and slapped him away.

“Dude. Brother.” Alfred said, grimacing. “Stop it or I’m going to do things with my own boyfriend that will leave you scarred forever.”

“Ha!” Surprising Gilbert _and_ Alfred, who often found themselves in this friendly banter, Arthur laughed. “I’d like to see you try, wonder-boy.”

“Okay, yeah, no, I don’t want to see limey here having an actual love life, thanks. It’s like watching my grandpa have sex.”

Arthur nearly punched him in the face, if it weren’t for Alfred holding him back with a laugh. Other team members of Alfred’s team passed by and hooted and whistled when they saw the two of them, so Arthur pushed himself away from Alfred. It was good that aside from the occasional bloke, most of the team didn’t really mind Alfred being with Arthur.

“You stink, so go shower.”

“Aw, okay babe.”

Roughly forty minutes later, Arthur had counted at least three different arguments – who was going to carpool with who, who was going to sit with whom in the booth at the diner, and who was going to take Arthur back home, though he suspected Francis wasn’t entirely serious about the latter one and was more keen on riling Alfred up.

He had managed to placate the boy slightly by taking his hand and allowed Alfred to jovially swing their hands on their way to the typically American looking diner. Giving his bomber jacket back had extracted a bit of an argument from Alfred, but Arthur quickly managed to shoot it down by claiming it was the only jacket Alfred had with him, so he begrudgingly accepted the item and shrugged it back on.

Eventually the argument about the booth had been useless – they quickly found one big enough for everyone. He was squashed on one side with the smaller kids though. Fortunately he had the window on one side and Matthew at the other.

Alfred sat opposite of him, with Ludwig and Gilbert. They took as much space as Arthur, Matthew, Feliciano and Francis did together, and that irked Arthur badly – stupid brawny airheads.  It helped that Feliciano darted out of the bench every now and then to run over to the jukebox, the bar or to simply deposit himself on Ludwig’s lap, to the latter’s embarrassment.

Arthur was in the middle of complaining how every item on the menu was greasy and unhealthy, when Francis taunted him over his own cooking skills over Matthew’s shoulders, which was the start of yet another argument. Matthew looked horribly uncomfortable with being caught in the middle, so of course Gilbert saw that as his cue to start.

“Man, I can’t wait until we get out of here.” Gilbert said briskly, looking every bit as comfortable as the three boys probably were on their side.

“Why’s that?” Matthew asked politely.

“So that we can go to my place, of course! If you want you can sit on my face again tonight, and I’ll make you scream-“

Alfred’s indignant shout of alarm of ‘Ew ew ew!’ collided with Ludwig’s horrified ‘Bruder!’ and Matthew’s embarrassed ‘Gilbert!’. It managed to snap Arthur and Francis out of their conversation however. He was sure Matthew died a little, with how red his face was. Though the bastard was probably also getting lucky sooner or later.

“Alfred is the only virgin at the table, is he not?” Francis exclaimed with delight.

“Dude! We’re in a diner, shut up!” Combined with his red face, that was proof enough. Francis laughed lightly. “And I do _not_ need to hear about Mattie in bed with you, okay? I need a drink. Or ten.”

Gilbert snorted. “You already hear me and Mattie in bed with each other, those walls aren’t soundproof.”

“Not listening! La la la!” Alfred dramatically covered an ear with one hand, punching Gilbert in the arm with the other.

“ _Non,_ we shan’t tease. You would much rather hear about Arthur instead, _oui?”_

“Francis, one more word and I’ll pull your pretty hair out.”

“You admit that it is pretty! _Rosbif_ , you have never made me happier.”

Cue another argument. Really, it was so easy to fall into arguments with his friend. It was just familiar. Frankly said Arthur had no idea if he could be friends with the other if they _didn’t_ argue eighty percent of their time together.

Alfred was looking at him curiously though – and Arthur knew exactly what was on his mind. Tough luck for him, he was not going to tell him about his own sexual experiences. It would probably only make the git feel bad, too, judging by the sad puppy-eyes thrown his way. He sighed – sometimes Alfred was so obvious. Half of the time he only needed to look his way to know what Alfred was thinking. The boy was an open book, his face always displaying any emotion.

Deciding to toy with that idea a little, he smirked. He could give the boy some experience of his own, and he could hardly bolt this time. Slowly toeing of his sneaker, he reached out to let his socked foot drag across Alfred’s leg. The boy jolted, hitting his knees on the table and cussing. Nobody paid him any mind though, used to Alfred’s antics.

Alfred gave him an incredulous look, so knowing that he had the boy’s attention he bit as his lip in a manner that always made Alfred want to snog him senseless.

Once they gave their orders to the lady of the diner, he upped his game a little again. Alfred was in the middle of a heated discussion with Gilbert and Ludwig about sports, Arthur couldn’t care less which one, so he dragged his foot upwards a little and circled it on the boy’s thigh. There was definitely a hitch in his speech there, one hand shooting down to his lap.

He felt his foot being grabbed for a moment, and Arthur wondered if he was going to push it away. Instead he just held it for a moment, before letting go again. To his surprise, Alfred’s hand started caressing his ankle a little, as if spurring him on.

 _Well_ , it seemed Arthur wasn’t the only one keen on a little dirty playing after all. Or perhaps Alfred just thought Arthur would keep it innocent, seeing as they were with friends. Alfred had another thing coming to him, if that was what he thought. Hell, he was good friends with someone (Antonio) who had banged his boyfriend while Arthur and Francis had been passed out on the floor. And Arthur, aside from being a little grossed out, hadn’t even been completely surprised.

Grinning slyly as Alfred was obviously trying to focus on the conversation he was having, Arthur allowed his foot further and further. Nobody was even paying attention to him, Francis talking to Matthew in French about _food_ of all things, Feliciano happily nodding along to everyone around him.

It didn’t take him very long to hit home and press a little here and there at Alfred’s crotch. He watched in glee as the boy tensed more and more, a red hue slowly appearing on his cheeks, but he wasn’t doing anything yet. He wondered how far he was allowed to go this time.

It wasn’t until he started to talk to Francis again that things finally progressed. It was trivial really, the subject being school. “So, _sourcils_ , how did you do on that History essay about Jeanne D’Arc?” It was an essay Francis had helped him on a little, so it was a good-natured question. Arthur flashed Alfred a grin before turning his head a little to Francis.

“After I worked _hard_ on it, I think I got quite the _impressive_ result. I went to the teacher afterwards and he told me I’ve _come_ very far on it already, but I had to _swallow_ my pride a little when he told me I was off on the grammar.” The story he told was complete bullshit and he had passed the test with flying colours, but no matter. He made sure Alfred was watching too, sticking out his tongue a little more than usual around some words and vowels as to show him the rolling of his tongue piercing.

 “Off on grammar?” Francis frowned. He had obviously noticed Arthur was acting a little strange, since Arthur was giving such an elaborate response too, but was hilariously more focused on Arthur’s grammar. That wouldn’t do of course, Francis had been Arthur’s French teacher until he deemed him fluent in the language.

“I sucked, apparently.”

Apparently the drawl of his voice and the foot-rubbing had been too much after all. Alfred yelped, all but climbing out over the boys next to him and rushed into the men’s room with only a ‘bathroom break!’. Everybody stopped what they were doing, staring a little bewildered.

Francis was already giving Arthur a look that showed he knew exactly what was going on. Francis rolled his eyes at him while Feliciano made a humming noise. “Perhaps he isn’t feeling well, _ve_?”

Yeah, probably. Arthur smirked. “I’ll go check on him.”

“ _Bien sûr_.” Francis remarked with a grin. Arthur put his shoe back on discreetly. He struggled a little as he managed to climb out of the bench again, but he did manage to elbow Francis in the side as he went. That might have been on purpose, but then again, who knows?

In the men’s room, he chuckled as he saw Alfred leaning on one of the sinks, running his hands over his face.

“Artie, what the _hell_?” He announced as Arthur sneaked his way up and ducked underneath his arm, leaning on the sink behind him as he pushed himself between it and Alfred. Arthur fluttered his eyelashes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, _yes_ , I mean, what were you doing? Man, this is so embarrassing.”

Looking down, Arthur could have an idea of what he meant. But that was just endearing, that a little rubbing had managed to get Alfred to this state. Well, it was his fault, right? He better do something about it. He rolled his eyes at the blushing American in front of him and instead pulled him down to kiss him, Alfred reluctantly participating. He could tell Alfred was actually a bit miffed, but he figured he had the solution for that.

Arthur _had_ of course noticed the cubicles in here were entirely closed off from the rest of the room, so as he managed to slowly push Alfred into one of them and lock the door behind him, he was at least certain no one was going to see two pairs of feet.

“Artie,” Alfred eventually choked out as they parted. “You know I’m all for a good make out session but-“

“Who said anything about making out? I didn’t.” Arthur interrupted, making an obvious show of lowering his hands to Alfred’s belt.

For a second he was afraid the other had died or something with how still he suddenly was. “So,” Arthur began nonchalantly, unbuckling the belt easily, toying with the button before pulling it out as well. “We can either do this with you standing up or you sitting down.” He nodded towards the toilet, who coincidentally was already covered by the lid.

“Uh,” Alfred said intelligently, eyes still glued on Arthur’s own. Arthur sighed, the boy could be so slow. He pushed the other towards the toilet seat, and Alfred all but stumbled to sit down.

Grinning slyly, he knelt before him. He was pretty sure Alfred was still stuck in thought, his expression confused and eyes wide. “Relax.” Arthur eventually said, kissing him on the lips sweetly. Biting his lip kicked Alfred back into gear, the boy moaning. He wanted to tell him to keep quiet because people could hear – but then again, Arthur didn’t really care about others hearing.

After all Gilbert had been right – one time when he and Alfred were watching a movie in the middle of the night, huddled up on Alfred’s bed, they _had_ heard Matthew and Gilbert going at it. Arthur had been hysterical, laughing at Alfred’s mortified expression.

He pushed the boy’s legs apart. He was glad for one that he was wearing loose trousers, so he didn’t have to undress the boy at all. He simply pushed his fly down a little further than necessary and palmed the considerable bulge through his boxers.

“Arthur, we really- oh, _jesus_ -“

Alfred was _not_ going to run this time, Arthur decided. He wasn’t really fond of giving blow jobs, more keen on receiving them (but who could disagree), but he would make an exception. Besides, he was fairly certain it would loosen the boy up a little so that they could progress into the more fun part that came with a relationship. Alfred apparently thought it was too fast but Arthur had whole other ideas.

“Yes, love?” He knew that nickname always did funny things to Alfred. Perhaps it was because the word conveyed most of Arthur’s feelings, especially because Arthur was generally shit at showing them otherwise. He knew Alfred threw around pet names as if it were free candy, but Arthur usually stuck to his insults or just Alfred.

Alfred didn’t reply anything coherent because Arthur had already pushed his boxers down as well, focusing on the boy’s length. He wasn’t about to write sonnets or lie about its girth or size, but it was a pretty damn fine dick and Arthur could totally get behind that. Or get it behind him, or whatever.

When it became clear that the mumbling coming out of Alfred’s mouth wasn’t getting any more coherent, Arthur started stroking it, dragging his fingers up and down and mapping it out. He considered how to start – he didn’t want to frighten the boy after all, or finish him off way too soon. No, this was going to be fun for both of them.

He kept his eyes strictly locked on Alfred’s as he leant in and licked from base to tip. In amusement he watched as Alfred’s eyes practically rolled back into his head – the boy’s arm also shot out to grab at Arthur’s hair. A bold move, but he’d allow it.

“Oh shit, your- your piercing- _oohh shit!”_

Arthur huffed in laughter, continuing to slowly lick up his length. Eventually he pulled back up, twisting his tongue around the shaft a little so the piercing would harmlessly catch in the other’s skin. He licked the tip, ignoring the salty, slightly unpleasant taste, before wrapping his lips around the tip. Spurred on by the other’s moans and mumbles, he hollowed his cheeks a little and started lowering his lips.

Suddenly Alfred’s moan was cut off, and Arthur looked up to see the American had stuffed one of his own hands in his mouth, biting on it. He chuckled, knowing the sensation would feel odd for Alfred, and delighted in seeing the boy’s blush worsen even more.

Mourning the fact that he wasn’t actually able to deep-throat the other all the way, Arthur used his hands to cover the base as he worked his tongue around the shaft. The hand in his hair tightened and pulled and pushed, but it was obvious that Alfred was holding back and being extra cautious despite it being his first time.

That oddly warmed Arthur’s heart – the boy had always been so considerate of everything.

It also reminded Arthur he was painfully hard at the moment himself, but he ignored it. Figuring out how he was going to deal with that was a problem for later, though the idea of touching himself right now was a pleasant one.

Oh fuck it, why not? He retracted one hand to palm his own erection, grinding into his hand slowly but keeping his main focus on Alfred. He moaned and slipped his hand into his own trousers, immensely glad he had not opted for skinny jeans that day. He felt Alfred shudder in response, and sucked hard.

“Arthur, I _can’t_ \- I’m-“ well, he couldn’t have not expected Alfred to finish sooner than Arthur was used to. The boy did have an empty list of experience, and one’s own hand did feel a lot different from another’s mouth – he had the memory of it himself, so.

A long, low groan, bordering on a growl, fell from Alfred’s lips as Arthur gently scraped his teeth alongside the boy’s dick. When he started toying with the other’s balls with one hand though, was when Alfred reached his breaking point.

A muffled, incoherent comment was his warning – not that he hadn’t been prepared anyway – and Arthur swallowed around him the best he could. Relaxing his jaw, he pulled back as to not gag as he swallowed down the cum, before pulling off completely with an obscene sounding pop.

He wanted to see Alfred’s expression – and was greeted with a nice sight indeed; Alfred was staring at him with half-lidded eyes, pupils dilated to the point that they practically swallowed up the blue pools of his eyes. The sight did wonderful things to his own dick and he moaned, hand still in is trousers.

He was pleasantly surprised as Alfred all but pulled him into his lap, kissing him. Arthur wondered if he was not slightly disgusted by the taste of his own cum, but Alfred wasn’t deterred, mapping out Arthur’s mouth as Arthur melted in his arms. After a few minutes he had to sit up a little though, the position making it difficult to jerk himself off.

“I can totally do that.” Alfred eventually announced, having regained his senses a little. Arthur wondered if he could, seeing as he had been blown out of his mind about what just happened, but smirked. He nipped at Alfred’s lips as the other’s face frowned a little in concentration, before he felt his own trousers being loosened and pushed down.

Well, Alfred never did cease to surprise him. “You look so hot.” Alfred whispered appreciatively – since when did the boy regain his confidence? What the hell, that was so unfair.

He nipped at Alfred’s lip again as he felt Alfred’s hand uncertainly joining his own. He would never admit it, but it was over embarrassingly soon for Arthur as well. The blowjob had been hotter for him than he would’ve liked, and as Alfred worked his hand around his own erection clumsily but with a hundred percent concentration, combined with some drawls of sweet nothings, he cursed as he came.

“Idiot,” he breathed, forcing himself down from his high. “your shirt.”

Alfred hadn’t noticed the obstruction, and looked down at the spot Arthur just soiled. He reddened immensely, and was about to make a retort, when the door to the men’s room opened.

“Alfred are you sure- Alfred? Arthur?” Matthew was silent, apparently figuring out why he couldn’t see Alfred or Arthur. “ _Oh my god_ I did _not_ need to know-“

In a fit of confidence, he saw Alfred’s grimace contort into a grin. “Suck it up Mattie!” He called as Matthew all but stormed out of the room again. Arthur tried to conceal his laughter by hiding his face in the other boy’s neck. “I’ll just eh, wash it out. And zip up my jacket.” He nervously chuckled as Arthur took the liberty to tuck both of them back into their boxers and trousers. They stood up carefully and Arthur roughly pulled on Alfred’s belt, buckling it up again.

“Shit.” Alfred said after they washed their hands. Their food had probably arrived, though Arthur stalled a little – teasing was going to be there too, and he hated to see Francis pit himself up against Alfred again. Alfred would always get so horribly agitated. He hummed in response, Alfred sighing. “I was totally gonna invite you back home but my dad is home and you know how he is about unexpected sleepovers.”

“Oh? What is it you want from me, hm?” Despite of what they had just done, the boy blushed a little. However, he was still feeling rather confident it seemed, because he tugged Arthur closer by his belt loops.

“For starters, the feel of your skin against mine would be good.” Alfred said, obviously embarrassed and feeling daring if the boyish glint in his eyes were any indicator.

Arthur laughed and pushed him away. Give a kid a finger and he wants your entire hand, huh? He hesitated for a moment. They would be home well after dinner, perhaps even only just before midnight. His own family would either be asleep, or in the living room, and he could just make a bolt to his room. _They_ could.  

“You could come with me instead.” He decided on saying. Alfred’s entire face lit up – in all their time together, Arthur had never once invited him over. He had seen only the interior of Arthur’s hallway every time he picked him up, and even then Arthur had a habit to wait outside on the porch.

“Seriously? Sweet!”

Arthur debated whether or not it was a good idea. But when Alfred led them out of the men’s room and back to their friends, who immediately started hooting and laughing, he was offered such a bright smile that he didn’t have it in him to change his mind.  


* * *

 

Alfred was extra excited the entire evening and ride back, as well as extra affectionate. Apparently Arthur unleashed the monster, or something, but he couldn’t say he minded so much. It was just a little more grabbing and touching than usual.

Matthew apparently had the same reservations about going home, so they didn’t have to carpool with anyone either. Alfred was chattering on about something he had seen on the internet, but Arthur wasn’t focused, instead gazing out of the window in worry.

Inviting Alfred to his home was probably a bad idea. Especially since he settled for discontinuing his wretched plan too. Now he just wanted Alfred to not know how horrible his own family was. Peter would definitely be asleep, but he had no idea about his parents. He didn’t say anything as they parked the car and entered the house.

Arthur had initially meant to just drag the boy, coat and shoes and all, upstairs and lock them in his room. Tomorrow was a regular school- and work day, so in the morning nobody would be home. Or just Peter if they got up early, but that was okay.

Of course fate didn’t favour Arthur as much as he wanted to, and the moment they closed the front door and headed for the stairs Arthur’s mother walked out of the kitchen. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she clearly recognized the boy next to her son.

Arthur tensed. He didn’t really want to start a fight in front of his mom, so he hoped they could just-

“Eh, good evening! I’m Alfred Jones, pleasure to meet you.”

He resisted groaning – his goody two shoes boyfriend or whatever he was just _had_ to introduce himself, of course. He even held out his hand and all, to which his mother just stared until Alfred awkwardly dropped it to his side.

“Yes, hello.” She eventually said, forcing a smile on her face. “Arthur, it’s a school-night and-“

“Yeah, whatever, it’s too late for him to go back. So we’ll just be upstairs.” Arthur interrupted harshly, all but pulling at the American’s arm. Alfred apparently got the hint and allowed himself to be pushed upstairs.

“I thought we talked about-“

“Going to bed now!” Arthur didn’t allow his mother to finish, instead pushing Alfred up the stairs and down the hallway. Only in his room did he release Alfred, opting to slam the door closed and lock it, testing it’s sturdiness too.

Turning around he saw Alfred fixing him with a questioning look, and he glared despite himself. Idly he noticed his room was a mess – he really had to do his laundry sooner or later. “So… that was weird?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Arthur muttered, throwing his coat and bag over his desk chair. He made a quick grab for the other boy, dragging him down in a kiss  he made sure to make so lewd, it had to convey what he wanted to do instead.

He pushed Alfred down to the bed, straddled him and, pushed off his bomber jacket in prhaps the span of ten, twenty seconds. He was about to manhandle Alfred out of his shirt too, when the boy nervously laughed and grabbed his hands to stop him.

“Arthur, wait.” He said, pushing away from him a little. “You can’t be serious.” At Arthur’s slightly offended expression – of course he was serious – Alfred laughed a little more. “I can’t- we _can’t_. Your parents are downstairs.”

“Fuck them. Or better yet, fuck me.” He latched himself to Alfred’s neck, sucking a bruise in it. He felt Alfred’s breath hitch, but he was pushed off again.

“Babe, you’re totally on my to-do list,” That was the _worst_ pick up line ever, and he had heard quite a lot from the other boy. “But I’m not comfortable with… you know.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Arthur groaned, looking at the other with an incredulous expression. Was he bloody serious? Why did he even think Arthur invited him over?

“Do they even know about me? They’ll hear.”

So what? Who cares? His door was locked, and not even Peter could barge through it, so it was safe too. “Of course they know.” Arthur said, grabbing one of Alfred’s hands and raising it to his face. Once he was sure Alfred was watching, he kissed his fingers, before playfully nipping and sucking on one. He _knew_ Alfred’s resolve was crumbling.

But for some reason, Alfred suddenly grew balls or whatever. He laughed again, his eyes tender and gentle, but he retracted his hands and slowly pushed Arthur off his lap. “Are you bloody serious?” Arthur complained.

“We can totally make out though!”

“You are- you’re such a- Christ, never mind.” At least he didn’t have a problem that needed dealing with yet. He huffed and pushed off the bed, glaring at Alfred all the same. Sometimes a little drama was necessary.

“What was your mom talking about anyway?” Alfred eventually said as Arthur started picking up dirty laundry out of spite. He dumped in the basket near his door before setting to undress himself and switch into his sweats and t-shirt. Rummaging through his closet to find _something_ that would fit Alfred, he found an odd shirt that had probably been from one of his brothers. Throwing it at the boy, he shrugged.

“I don’t have anything else for you, sorry.” The boy would have to sleep in his underwear as revenge. “And it’s nothing. Don’t concern yourself over it.”

Alfred took it in stride, ridding himself of his shirt and replacing it with the one Arthur threw at him. “You can talk to me about it, though.” He said, walking over to Arthur and grabbing his hands with a sunny smile.

_I can’t._

Arthur glared, instead disappearing into the bathroom to brush his teeth and the like. Alfred obediently waited his turn, and as he was busy himself Arthur ducked under the covers. He didn’t have his own television in the room, and he was pretty tired if he had to be honest, so they might as well sleep. He felt Alfred eventually slipping under the covers, bare legs entwining with his own.

It felt disgustingly affectionate but he allowed it, frowning as he noticed Alfred was looking over his shoulder along with him. He was scrolling through his phone, checking the apps and messages. Locking the screen he huffed, and turned slightly. Alfred’s arms around him tightened lightly, and he was pulled further into the American’s chest.

“You’re so tiny.”

“I will kick you out of this bed.”

“Ha! No you won’t.” Alfred pecked his lips with a laugh. “You like me too much for that.”

“It’s not about you – you’re just warm. Come summer I’ll be through with you.”

“Hey, that’s mean!” Arthur tried to keep his grin down to a minimum as he saw Alfred feigning hurt. What a ditz. “By the way, just now in the diner.” He raised his eyebrows at the sudden faltering behaviour of the usually goofy American. Alfred licked his lips and diverted his gaze to Arthur’s lips or nose, somewhere under his eyes.

“I just… ehm. Well, it was great. You’re great. Okay, you’re pretty fucking amazing. I’m such a dumbass and you’re totally putting up with me and it’s-“ He was cut off as Arthur pressed his hand against the other’s mouth. Playful glint in his eyes, Alfred licked it and Arthur resisted the urge to slap him with the same hand. “Rambling, got it.”

“Someone ought to put a lock on you.”

“Ignoring that. I told you dad and Rosie are going to the Bahamas next week right? They won’t be back until after New Year’s. And I know that Mattie and I are going up to Canada during the Christmas break, but I got still the house to myself for a while. Well, with Mattie, but y’know.”

Ugh, Christmas. Arthur hated family holidays – because he actually felt obliged to spend them with his mom. He disliked her and his stepfather, but even he couldn’t live with the look she would give him if he were to deny her Christmas dinner. It was only Christmas day too, even though his brothers would be there afterwards. At least he’d be able to bail on Christmas eve and New Year’s. Alfred not being at the parties, he realized, would kind of suck.

“Whatever.” He settled, his mind already distracted from what Alfred had been saying. If Alfred wanted to wait so badly until they had his bloody castle of a house for themselves, then fine. “But today? Not a one-time thing. I’ll show you how fun a car can really be.”

“You’re so crass sometimes. I love it.”

Arthur hated the love word. He wriggled uncomfortably, but it was near impossible. Arthur’s bed wasn’t as big as Alfred’s own, so they had limited space already. And though he was sure he kicked in his sleep, he usually woke up in the same position as he fell asleep – trapped in the American’s arms.

“Hey, we should totally go shopping this weekend. I have _no_ idea what to buy for my ma.”

“And you think I have a clue? She never even sees you or Matthew, just make her a scrapbook or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea!” He had meant it as a joke, but okay. Arthur sighed, consenting to the idea anyway because honestly, what else was he going to do? He ignored Alfred’s pleased hum as he cuddled closer to the other, burying his face in Alfred’s neck. “Man, I wish you could come. She’d like you.”

“She’d be disappointed.”

“Wow, what? Arthur, we’ve went over this.” Alfred didn’t move them, but his voice took a slightly sterner note. “I know you act like you think you are garbage, but you’re not. You’re pretty damn intelligent too, with your books and brains, so don’t get me started.”

“Shut up already.” Arthur said, biting in the skin where Alfred’s neck met his shoulder. The boy shuddered and chuckled, rubbing circles on Arthur’s lower back.

“It’s true.” Alfred said, sounding a little amused. “I mean, I had a crush on you for years and I still can’t believe that I’m here now, with you.”

“You’re embarrassing.” It felt good, though he felt guilty still. Sure, he was fairly sure he had a crush on the boy now. But to the same extent? And by what means? Alfred being so open about it whilst Arthur hadn’t even thought of looking at the boy before, it did wonders for his ego, but also spread a sour dread in his stomach.

“It’s true. I lo-“ Foolish kid. Arthur cut him off by kissing him on the lips soundly, glaring at him afterwards. He knew what Alfred was trying to say – he had been trying to say it for about a week. Arthur wouldn’t let him. The boy was way in over his head, and probably didn’t know what he was saying anyway. And until he realized that he didn’t mean what he wanted to say, Arthur would help him in interrupting him and simply not letting him say it.

Besides, if this entire thing was actually born out of a lie, than how could he in good conscious let Alfred say it? The poor sod probably wanted Arthur to say it back. Alfred just watched too much Hollywood movies.

“Go to sleep.” Arthur mumbled, glare not faltering when Alfred gave him the same kicked puppy look he had given him before. Alfred sighed, nodded, and pulled Arthur back into his hug, obviously trying to convey what he was not allowed to say in it. Arthur let him – this, he could be ignorant of.


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur hated falling out with Alfred.

It started innocently enough. They had been hanging out in Alfred’s house in his room, watching a horror movie. That was a big mistake on its own. Arthur hadn’t even known it was possible to be so incredibly frightened of a movie – and to be completely okay when the movie ended too. Still, he had been on edge because his arm lacked any normal blood circulation, and Alfred was in denial the minute the movie ended.

As if Arthur’s mood hadn’t been foul enough from that, Alfred had apparently forgotten that his father would be home that evening. Granted the man and his wife would be leaving for their vacation two days after, but Alfred had assured him they would have the house for themselves the entire evening.

Which is what brings them to their current prediction. Having thought the house would be empty for a few hours more, Arthur had decided to get a little revenge on the horror movie fiasco. Well, revenge. He thought it more than appropriate Alfred help him rid him of his nerves. As such, he had latched himself onto the boy, biting at his neck and _demanding_ stuff he knew Alfred was a bit uncomfortable with to give.

And he had been _so close._ Alfred’s hands were already on his behind, kneading the flesh as they took their time making out, exploring each other through their clothes. He was in the middle of whispering dirty promises into the boy’s ear,  Alfred sucking a bruise into his neck, when they were interrupted with someone clearing their throat ominously.

It is safe to say all excitement dropped when they parted as if touched by fire and were greeted with Alfred’s dad standing in the doorway of the room they were in. Arthur was just embarrassed with being caught in such a promising position – and a little angry for the interruption – but Alfred looked positively mortified.

The man had turned around, disappointment fierce in his eyes, and Alfred had all but stumbled after the man. Arthur, not quite sure what to do when both the Jones men disappeared into the kitchen, quietly toed into the hallway to grab his stuff. He was debating whether or not to wait for Alfred, so he took a few steps near the kitchen’s direction, when he heard the shouting.

He couldn’t _see_ it but he knew both men were terribly angry. Alfred was doing most of the shouting, whilst his father kept it to sneering and low, stern sentences. He did hear cabinets slamming closed occasionally and wondered who of the two would be doing that, but it didn’t really matter. He ached for the poor boy he called his boyfriend as the conversation he heard was pretty much the conversation he was someday going to have with his own stepfather.

It came down to Alfred being grounded, his father being disappointed and disgusted with him, and more of the usual ‘it’s just easier if you date girls’ stuff. The reminder of his mum made him want to gag, but at least she had been subtle.

The argument had eventually taken a turn for the worse as Matthew was suddenly mentioned, and he wondered if it were okay for him to listen in. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Matthew came downstairs himself. Upon hearing the ruckus, he sent Arthur a forlorn look. Arthur took that moment to flee the house.

The day after on school Arthur hadn’t tried to approach the American boy, though he wasn’t really ignoring him either. More, Alfred was ignoring him, or ignoring everyone around him to be specific. Arthur _had_ had the decency to send the boy a text after he fled the Jones house earlier, explaining why he had suddenly gone. Alfred had simply responded with a ‘whatever’ and Arthur had left it at that.

He was relieved to notice Alfred wasn’t angry with him however. He still sat next to Arthur in their shared classes, but during lunch he couldn’t find the boy with his team mates or with Arthur’s own friends, and he decided not to go looking. Matthew didn’t clue him in on anything either, though he was a little more stressed if his sudden snappiness towards Gilbert was any indicator.

Arthur was too embarrassed to admit it out loud, but on the day before the weekend started he had gotten enough of the boy’s behaviour and had gone to see him during practice. He didn’t know if Alfred had noticed him or anything, so he sat at one of the higher up benches and patiently played a few games on his phone until he noticed they were done. Waiting downstairs for Alfred to come out of the shower, his earlier suspicions were confirmed when Alfred gave him a confused look.

Momentarily dazed with how good the boy looked, all worked up from his practice and wet hair still clinging to his face, Arthur sent him a smirk. Alfred didn’t grace him with one of his own grins, but still nodded towards Arthur.

Arthur, seeing the boy’s lax attitude, had gotten angry – because if he had to be honest, being angry was just the easiest way to deal with one’s emotions.

“So, we breaking up?” He asked dryly. He had meant it more as a joke, expecting a sarcastic comment in return before all would be good and well. After all, it was how he interacted with his friends, even his brothers. Sarcasm and mean jabs were just a way of his life.

Alfred hadn’t taken it that way, unfortunately. “What? Why? Do you want to?”

“I figured that because of your dad-“ Arthur started, shrugging, when Alfred stopped abruptly and actually _glared_ at him. Arthur couldn’t remember if he had ever been on the receiving end of the boy’s anger.

“The fuck? Things start to get a little too heated for you all of a sudden or what?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He was getting riled up – defensive mode kicking into gear way too quickly.

“It was _you_ that was ignoring me-“

“I wanted to give you space, you bloody yank. The entire week you looked as if you wanted to cry.”

“And god forbid Arthur fucking Kirkland has to deal with emotions.” Alfred at least had the decency to look slightly upset with himself as he said it.

Arthur just raised his eyebrows, giving the boy a once over. “Okay. I’m not doing this.” He wanted to walk away but his wrist was grabbed rather painfully by the other, who dragged him back to where they were before. He twisted and turned, trying to get out of the other boy’s grip, defensive mode getting worse. It reminded him of his brothers who would drag him out of the closet – it hurt.

Seeing the Brit wince had Alfred fortunately releasing him, a concerned expression on his face. Alfred reached out again, this time for his arm, and for something more gentle too, but Arthur snarled at him to not touch him or else.

Arthur had then left and proceeded in ignoring the other boy for the entire weekend. He supposed he had been a bit of a drama-queen and that he shouldn’t have run off the way he had, but his mood wasn’t improving – no, fate toyed with him and he got a horrible cold. Wallowing in his self-pity he took a few days off of school, ignoring all contact with the outside world except for Francis.

Even though he felt pretty sick, he couldn’t sleep as much as he wanted to. His homework was either all done or ignored, and lacking new movies to watch or consoles to game with, he had shuffled over to the box of classics Alfred had gifted him and finished no less than three books in three days.

On Wednesday he felt hungry enough to finally show his face to the rest of his family. He had locked himself up with nothing but tea to sustain on for almost three days, the headache and stomach ache preventing any hunger. Fortunately he had his own electric kettle on his room and accessible water through the bathroom.

Wednesday probably marked him getting better as well he reasoned, as he sat down at the dinner table and glared at the people around it. His stepfather was conversing with Peter while his mum cooed at him lightly and helped him to some food, which he idly played around with whilst trying to force down as much as he could. He was probably going to go to school tomorrow, because he was starting to feel caged in the house. Perhaps he could stay over with Francis again until the weekend, that’d be refreshing.

Unfortunately his foul mood had him bickering with Peter as he walked back up to his room, snapping at the younger boy before slamming his bedroom door in his face. He turned around with a grimace and _almost_ screeched at what he saw.

Alfred was halfway climbing through his window, which wasn't open far enough so it was a rather tight fit, and Alfred was making it as difficult as possible for himself.

“Alfred!” He half yelled, half whispered. “In the name of the Queen, what are you doing?!”

“Queen? Dude we have a President, you know that right? Obama?”

Arthur actually smacked his hand against is face and gave an annoyed grunt, shushing Alfred harshly. "Why not just use the door?"

“You were ignoring my texts. And well, I was nearby, and your window was open and your light was on.”

“You were nearby- no, so you climb into my room like some stalker? This isn't Twilight!”

“You read Twilight?”

Arthur felt himself becoming hot and stuttered for a good response, but Alfred laughed and brushed it off easily, dropping down on Arthur's bed, looking around his room. It was perhaps in even a messier state than before, what with Arthur having practically lived only in his bed for the past few days.

“Why are you here, if not for watching me sleep?"

“Cut it, Bella, or I'll bite.” He joked and Arthur glared. He sat down next to Alfred and buried his face in his hands for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to handle this. He had been ignoring Alfred, being upset with him for the silliest of reasons, and it would damage his pride to apologize so he sure as hell wasn’t going to. “Are you okay?”

“No, you tosser, I’m sick.” Arthur snapped, nodding over to the waste bin next to his bed that was filled with tissues. His nose and throat weren’t feeling swollen however, so he supposed he wasn’t that sick anymore.

“Okay. I was worried.” Alfred eventually said, chewing on his lower lip nervously. “I’m sorry for last week.”

“Sure.” No, _Arthur_ should be sorry too. But he wasn’t going to announce it. Instead Arthur stood up from his bed and walked over to the door. He had forgotten to lock it, and he certainly didn’t want his brother barging in to continue their bickering.

He noticed some of the books he had finished during the week scattered on the ground, and set to picking them up to either place them back in the box or on his night stand. Alfred watched him intensely, making him feel slightly jittery, but didn’t say anything until Arthur ran out of things to do and sat down on the bed again.

“So…” Alfred began. “Do we need to talk or something? I feel like we do.”

“About what?”

Alfred apparently didn’t know what to say for a moment. Instead, he wrinkled his nose, his eyes falling on the ashtray near Arthur’s bed. “Dude, did you smoke? You’re sick, that’s not good for you.”

For some reason – perhaps his cold, perhaps Alfred showing up out of the blue, perhaps his life just being shit in general – Arthur snapped. “For heaven’s sake, get off my fucking back about the smoking. I’m not going to quit.”

“I never said you had too, calm down.”

“Well, you’re constantly going on and on about how bad it is or how it stinks. Just mind your own business for once.”

“It’s unhealthy for you, man, and now that you’re sick even more so. But whatever, don’t quit. See if I care.” Alfred, having been tense himself, easily lapsed into the kicked puppy mode.

It infuriated Arthur. It was an open invitation for a quarrel in his eyes. _“Excuse me_? I never go on about your fucked up diets or your diabetes inducing eating habits, do I?”

“You totally do. You constantly call me on it or call me names.”

“Then maybe if you would stop getting on my back for smoking and would stop devouring everything you see, I wouldn’t have to!”

This was familiar. Fighting was okay, it was familiar.

“Jesus, Arthur, what are you even with me for then, huh? You know, just forget it.” He stood up from the bed and walked back to the window.

“Just run away like a kicked dog and go find some chick that’ll do whatever you want.” Arthur muttered angrily, watching him leave. Alfred whirled around however, looking upset and angry.

“What? Are you even hearing yourself? I don’t want that.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You don’t get to make me the helpless girl in whatever this thing we have is.”

“ _Thing_? It’s called a relationship, and I know you’re not comfortable with that but it is. And I do _not_ treat you like a helpless girl.”

Arthur huffed as Alfred walked back over to him, feeling the urge to rise to his full length a little. Alfred being angry was strangely intimidating what with the difference in their lengths – and it was _exhilarating_.

“You’d want that right? Someone being all docile and sweet to do everything you want, a girl you can be the perfect-“ He stopped when Alfred grabbed his shoulders, shaking a little.

“Arthur, what the hell? I don’t want that, I want _you_. Why are you so awful all of a sudden?”

“Cut the crap, you don’t want to hear it, you only hear what you want to hear. Just fucking run from this already. You’re good at that, running from your problems, from your dad, and your own fucking brother knows it too because he doesn’t even want to take your name. Sometimes I just don’t know whether to pity you or not!“

For a tiny second he thought Alfred was going to hit him. He certainly looked the part. But instead he was quiet, glaring as Arthur finished his rant and looked back at him with a rather wild expression. He wanted Alfred to fight back, he _craved_ it. Damn, he was so bloody weird sometimes.

Alfred’s eyes on him were intense, and he slowly felt his anger crumble. “Did you get it out of your system?” The American snapped then, his hold on Arthur’s shoulders still tight. Instead of gracing him with a response, Arthur stood on his toes and slotted their lips together.

The other boy was definitely surprised by the sudden development, loosening his grip a little before wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist instead. Arthur grabbed the other’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard, feeling pleased at the sudden gasp of pain coming from the other. It did the job though, because Alfred growled in anger and grabbed his hips harshly, turning them around and pushing the other until they practically rammed into the wall. Arthur hit his head a little harder than he would’ve liked, but he wasn’t about to give a shit at this moment.

Because, goody shoes Alfred, wonder-boy Alfred was biting down harshly and grinding their hips together and holy _mother of-_ Arthur was definitely up for this. He practically whimpered when he felt Alfred’s hand grabbing his own wandering one and pulled it away, forcing it against the wall in a bruising grip.

It startled Alfred out of whatever mood he was in, and they parted, both breathing heavily.

“What the fuck, Art?” Alfred practically whispered. He was licking his lower lip a lot and Arthur remembered tasting iron, so he had probably bitten down a little too hard. Whatever, the lad could take it. Slowly, as if not to scare the other, Alfred released his hip and wrist, and took a step back.

His expression was clouded with confusion and something Arthur didn’t really recognize. Arthur felt his own lower lip was pretty bruised itself – he hadn’t even known the other boy to be capable of being anything but attentive and sweet. This was strangely exciting.

Alfred sighed. “I really like you Arthur. I don’t want to break up or anything. I mean, the insinuation that we could actually made me realize that was the first time you even claimed we were… well, in a relationship. And I really don’t want to break it up. I don’t want you to think I want you to be easy or obedient or whatever sick shit you mentioned. I love it that you’re a challenge. But if you want to end it, or whatever, just say so. Don’t fight me on it. Fuck, I’d do anything to make you… just, say it.”

Arthur wasn’t sure of what to say. How the hell was he suddenly so nice again? Arthur had said some pretty twisted things. He would’ve kept going too, if he weren’t overcome by the earlier urge to kiss the boy.

“Of course we are in a bloody relationship, you twat, I’m not some hooker.” Arthur decided on saying, looking away with a huff. “and I don’t want that either. I suppose.” Why did he even add on that last part? He didn’t suppose it – he just plain didn’t want to.

He was startled when Alfred reached out and ran his fingers across Arthur’s cheek down to his neck, caressing it tenderly. How the tables have bloody turned, indeed.

“I know you’re not comfortable with… us. I mean, the moment you suddenly appeared to be into me too I was completely shell-shocked, you know? I couldn’t believe my luck – I’ve been practically pining after you since – well since I first saw you. And I know you want to have this entire bad-boy reputation, and that’s _fine._ I don’t care. I don’t care if you smoke, do drugs, get thousands of tats or piercings. That’s not important. It’s not important that you are apparently all sort of hots for a good fight, and if you’re into that weird stuff then we can totally work that out too. I just want to make you happy, Arthur.”

Arthur felt like he was going to cry as Alfred grabbed his hand and pressed his lips to his knuckles.

“Please don’t be angry. Let’s just forget this ever happened. I happen to have two tickets to Macbeth in the arthouse for next week, and I have the house for myself, and-“

“Are you seriously trying to buy my love with tickets for Shakespeare?” He had to interrupt or he was seriously going to bawl. Why the hell was Alfred so bloody sweet? Arthur didn’t deserve that – he knew he didn’t.

Alfred grinned widely. “Is it working?”

“I’m not saying.” Arthur sniffed, a twitch of his lips betraying his intention to smile. Alfred visibly relaxed and nodded, sitting back down on the bed. Eventually Arthur joined him, and they both sat in silence for a while, leaning against each other.

“Is it okay if we talk… about what happened with my dad?” Alfred sounded vulnerable, as if he were expecting Arthur to snap. Arthur wanted to – he couldn’t really talk about stuff like that. Didn’t Alfred have Matthew for that shit? Or any other friends? But Arthur was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into Alfred’s stupid bomber jacket and soak in his body heat and comfort.

“Okay.” He said instead, looking to the other boy closely. Diverting the subject would be good. They could get rid of the awkward romantic atmosphere and Arthur could focus on something else than the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Long story short; he grounded me and stuff but Rosie got him to calm down, so now he’s just angry. I don’t believe that ass – he basically confirmed right there and then that he didn’t care what Mattie did, as long as I was a respectable young man or whatever. It was insulting.”

Arthur knew that Alfred didn’t know he had listened in to the conversation. Arthur knew that he had been called all kinds of stuff by the boy’s father, who honestly hadn’t even seen him more than twice now. He knew Matthew had been called worthless and had seen said boy’s expression as he too sat on the stairway near the kitchen. And he had heard Alfred losing his shit, which had been comforting to both of them.

He worried at his bruised lower lip – as if in a movie, the scenes changed so flawlessly it seemed. Alfred gave no indication of the fight they just had. Though, if he looked real close, there was some tenseness in his shoulders. Alfred also occasionally flitted his eyes up and down Arthur, as if checking for places he might have hurt.

“I can’t wait to graduate. I’m moving out of there faster than you can say freedom.”

“Yeah?” Arthur licked his lips. He wished he could do the same. He still hadn’t decided on a college however, though he was sure he was going to go with either Communications or Literature. Unlike Alfred however, he didn’t have a savings account that would allow him to go and live on his own. He had to hope to find a job, and even then wouldn’t be able to move out until a few months later. 

Apparently the same had been on Alfred’s thoughts. He had shared what he had wanted to pursue in life, so when Alfred asked him about whether or not he had decided on a college, he wasn’t very surprised. “You know,” Alfred started, bashful grin on his face. “My college totally has those programs. We could totally… you know, split an apartment or something.”

Dread coiled in Arthur’s stomach. Honestly, living together? At Arthur’s silence, Alfred didn’t prod, fortunately. Sometimes the boy was good in reading the atmosphere, and Arthur’s panicked expression apparently told him enough. It wasn’t that he wanted to decline the offer – if Arthur had to be honest he could almost dream of it. But he was frightened, because it was serious and permanent and just plain weird.

Suddenly his door was knocked on loudly, Peter hollering behind it. “Who are you talking to? I’m telling mum!”

“You little shit!” Arthur called back, ready to storm out after him as he heard Peter running down the stairs. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Alfred, who also stood up from the bed. “You better go.”

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow at school? Are we cool, though? I… I missed you.”

Alfred tugged the boy closer and Arthur couldn’t resist pressing himself into that warmth. He sighed as he buried his face in Alfred’s shoulder, feeling the boy wrap his arms around himself.

“I-“ he choked on his words – was it honestly so hard to just be honest for once? Arthur hated himself, and forced him to step out of his comfort zone. “You too.” He said, hoping it was obvious what he was trying to convey. “And of course. See you tomorrow, love.” Somehow the bloody pet-name never proved any problem.

Alfred beamed and leant down to kiss him – cold and germs be damned, but Arthur still pushed him away after indulging himself for a moment, claiming he was going to get sick before pushing him back to the window. He hoped that Alfred would be able to get back down from the window, but watched incredulously as the boy agilely climbed off. He smiled as Alfred waved on his way to the car, waiting until it drove off.

He was about to walk out of his room to go and give Peter a piece of his mind when someone knocked on his door. Probably his mum then. Getting ready for another painful conversation whereas she tried to be accepting but failed and was actually incredibly homophobic, Arthur dragged his hands through his hair. He side-stepped the mess on his floor, making a note to do laundry soon, and unlocked the door.

Instead of his mother however, he was met with a furious looking stepfather.  


* * *

 

As per usual, Francis had picked him up on the way to school. He had immediately started fussing with a rather murderous look in his eyes as he occasionally glanced towards Arthur’s house.

“ _Ma biche,_ let’s go to my home first. We can cover that nasty looking thing up.” It wasn’t very hard, Arthur reasoned, for Francis to figure out where the bruise had come from. That is, Francis did believe Arthur when he said the evening before that the Brit had locked himself in his house for a few days due to his cold.

“I’m not wearing bloody make-up, princess.” Arthur sneered, swatting Francis’ hand away. Francis was right in assuming though. Were he to have gotten into a fight with some random kid, his brothers or even Alfred, he would’ve heard about it. This was just more embarrassing.

“People will ask, _rosbif_.” It sounded weird. Tender, gentle. He hated it when Francis worried about him.

“Let them. It’s not as if I never have bruises.” Arthur grumbled, pressing himself further into the leather seat of the car. “Are you going to drive or what?”

“As you wish. I will drive you home later today to get some stuff, you are staying with me, _non_? We can go to Antonio’s party tomorrow together.”

Arthur consented – he would be rather relieved to stay with Francis, after all. He wondered for a second what Alfred would think. He knew the boy had the house to himself now, perhaps Alfred wanted Arthur to sleep with him instead. He announced as much to Francis, who looked thoughtful and nodded, claiming that if that were not the case he was welcome anyway.

He received odd glances from people he knew, Gilbert telling him that he still looked like shit no matter what he did to which the boy received a friendly punch on the arm, and Antonio looked a little worried but no one mentioned it.

It wasn’t until their lunch break however, as he was about to head to their usual spot but was cornered in the hallway by an angry looking Alfred. The problem was that Arthur had forgotten about the nasty bruise covering the length of his upper cheek to his eye by that time. The throb he had either gotten used to or forgotten in more difficult classes, and he hadn’t even thought of the boy yet seeing as they didn’t share any classes up until after lunch break.

So faced down by the angry American, first his stomach coiled with dread – was Alfred _still_ upset over what happened? They talked it out, right?

“That,” Alfred said, eyes zooming in on Alfred’s right eye.  “was not there when I left yesterday. What happened?”

Oh, of course. Perhaps he _should_ have gone back with Francis first, to cover it up. He simply assumed that he would be able to tell Alfred the same as he would have told the others – a fight with a random kid or perhaps a nasty trip down the stairs. The latter could still work, but Alfred didn’t look like he would believe it.

“Nothing happened.” Arthur instead said briskly, turning his face a little as if to hide the bruise. It didn’t work – Alfred’s hand shot out and grabbed his chin, turning it to him again for inspection.

“Who did this?” Alfred asked, angry tone not lessening. “How did you even- was it Francis? I know you drive to school with him. I swear to god-“

“Do you honestly think I would allow Rapunzel to get away unharmed if he did this?” He sneered, knowing Alfred had seen the boy in their own shared class. Alfred was convinced by that, at least.

“Then who? Was one of your brothers home?” Arthur’s brothers had always been a touchy subject, so he wasn’t very surprised that Alfred made assumptions about the relationship he had with them.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it. Let go already.” Arthur said, wrenching himself out of Alfred’s grip. Alfred grimaced but followed, grabbing his hand in his own. It felt oddly secure.

“Please just talk to me.” He said softly as he allowed Arthur to drag him through the hallways and into the cafeteria. He ignored the boy and they sat down at their usual table, well, Arthur’s usual table, in silence.

They spent a few minutes rather amicably, chatting with friends while Arthur tried not to look glum. He couldn’t eat much, his stomach still a little sore, but nobody seemed to mind. He was about to feel victorious into shutting Alfred up about the entire matter when Francis, who for _once_ didn’t seem capable of reading the atmosphere, had to ruin the moment.

“ _Sourcils_ , have you yet decided? I’ll wait after school if you wish to come home with me but-“

“What?” Alfred had always been tense the moment Francis would strike up conversation with Arthur, and today was no different. “Why would he go with _you_?”

Francis frowned. “Ah, you have not told him?”

“Nobody is telling me shit. Arthur?”

One look at Arthur’s exasperated and slightly panicked expression apparently gave Alfred enough clues.

“Holy _shit_ did your father do this?” He wanted to correct that it was his stepfather not his non-existent father, but the entire table fell silent as they apparently all heard Alfred’s outburst.

Arthur darted from the table, cussing out both Francis and Alfred. Great. Now everyone knew about Arthur’s pathetic little life. He scrambled outside, where it was more or less abandoned during this time of year. People would rather fill the cafeteria or the library in favour of comfortable warmth than hang out outside in the cold, obviously.

He managed to light up a cigarette and take a few long, calming drags from it by the time he was joined by Alfred. The boy looked positively livid but his expression softened when he spotted Arthur.

“Do you want to stay with Francis?” He eventually murmured, pressing his side into Arthur lightly. The warmth radiating from the boy was comforting, and Arthur allowed himself to be pulled closer. “I don’t mind. I mean, you can totally stay with me. But if you’d rather… then it’s cool.”

It wouldn’t be cool – Arthur wasn’t stupid. But he did rather want to go to Francis, secretly. He knew that if he would go to Alfred that there would be talks and feelings and other weird stuff. Francis would likely help him stuff his face with ice cream and they’d watch stupid TLC programs until midnight.

“You and Francis can bury the hatchet. I’m not staying with anyone.” Arthur decided. It would be the best way to keep the peace, and it would probably be better for his own mood too. Besides, he could skip the dinners and lock himself in his room the moment his stepfather would come home. It wouldn’t be a big deal, they’d not see each other. “I’ll stay with you in the weekend.”

Alfred obviously wanted to disagree. “You should talk to someone on school, too.”

“Absolutely not.” There was no questioning the finality in his voice, and Alfred relented, instead wrapping one arm around Arthur’s waist. For once he didn’t comment on Arthur’s smoking either, and when the bell rang for their next period they begrudgingly trudged back inside.

Their next class was math, so Alfred wasn’t able to sit next to him as he so obviously wanted. They had long since traded their school books, Alfred realizing Arthur was shit at the subject and knowing his book with its scribbles and notes would be more use to Arthur.

He couldn’t focus however, eyes flitting over the occasional doodle in the book. His mind wandered back to the night before instead, when his stepfather had all but barged into his room. A fight much like Alfred’s and his own dad’s had broken out, though his mum had been standing in the doorway with a worried expression.

Of course, much like Alfred, Arthur had lost his cool and defended himself as he always did. Unlike his boyfriend however, Arthur was much more crass and easier infuriated. He probably said some things that would explain the scandalized expression his mother wore, but he didn’t care. How dared that man act like his parent, anyway?

And the whole ‘you shall not lie with a man, as with a woman, for it is an abomination’ thing was getting kind of old and really, really irritating. It just reminded Arthur of how closeminded some people could be.

Eventually it had escalated. He had tried to forcibly remove the man from his room, pushing him a little, and the man had obviously felt that as the gravest mistake yet.

He had grabbed Arthur by his arm and punched him square in the face. It hadn’t been harsh enough for Arthur to fall down, but he stumbled backwards in shock all the same. He knew the man was wrong – but to go to _that_ level?

He would have grabbed his pocket knife if it weren’t for his mother standing in the doorway still, nearly in tears as she slowly managed to placate the man out of the room. Arthur, still a little bewildered, slammed the door in their faces and locked it.

The next morning the house was empty, as he didn’t have class until third period. However, there was a plate in the kitchen with waffles and he had thrown them in the trash in contempt. His mother obviously wanted to reason with him through being a sweet little mum all of a sudden, and he wouldn’t have it. Instead he had smoked to his heart’s content in the kitchen without airing the room, drank straight from the carton of orange juice and had a breakfast consisting of a pack of chocolate chip cookies.

It were the little things that counted after all.

After class ended, Alfred turned back around to him. “I’ll respect your choices and stuff,” he said with a small smile. “But at least come with me until tonight. I’ll cook for you and we can watch a stuffy British movie.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the comment. “Fine, you git.” That seemed to placate the boy lightly.

The rest of the day, every time they met, Alfred had this concerned expression and he was more gentle than usual with his hugs and things. He had a slight falling out with Francis too about his decision to just stay home, but nothing overly dramatic. Even though practically every friend he had now knew what happened, nobody mentioned it, to which he was grateful.

As it were, Matthew had apparently had the same idea. He and the younger twin sat down at the kitchen island, watching as Alfred and Gilbert were apparently cooking something big and exaggeratedly trying to impress their significant others. Matthew was obviously very charmed, whereas Arthur was more exasperated.

The big thing they were trying to make failed epically, so eventually Alfred sullenly went to the freezer and pulled out a few pizza’s for them to warm. Their ‘dinner’ was stalled out in the sitting room, where Gilbert all but dragged Matthew down with him on the comfortable chair.

Instead of the British film he was promised, they settled for a bloody Marvel movie. Arthur could get into it, he supposed, but it wasn’t really his genre. He was just glad nobody decided on a horror movie. After a few slices and more than enough beer that Gilbert had helpfully supplied them with, he was comfortable enough to slump against Alfred a little. Alfred had wrapped his arm around him in the process, so he was feeling quite comfortable.

He felt himself doze off. His eye throbbed a little annoyingly, but the warmth of Alfred’s body next to him and the arm that was wrapped around him were so pleasant. He felt as if he closed his eyes for just a second as he opened them again and the movie were suddenly over, replaced with the midnight news.

He remained nestled into Alfred’s side a while longer, making no motion that would indicate his waking up. He noticed Matthew and Gilbert were already trotting out of the room with the dirty dishes, whispering their goodnights. Alfred was obviously doing something on his phone, Arthur hearing the soft tapping of his fingers.

He allowed himself a small smile. Nobody was here to see him anyway and Alfred couldn’t from his position. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. His face was practically on the boy’s lap, a blanket that hadn’t been there before draped over his lower body. Everything smelled wonderfully – smelled of Alfred.

Arthur would never admit it out loud, but he knew he was quite happy. Even with his stepfather being a douche and the throbbing of his eye, he knew he didn’t have a shitty life. He had his friends and now he had Alfred. He reminisced their earlier fall out in his own room, and how Alfred had made it clear that he wanted to make Arthur happy.

It made his heart surge and his breath falter a little – no one had ever looked at him like that, and nobody had ever said things like that. Sure, he knew people cared for him, even his mother in her own weird way and his brothers – but to have it spelled out for him like that did weird things to him.

And in the safety of Alfred’s presence and quite literally his arms, Arthur allowed to indulge himself into the feelings of warmness spreading in his body. He twisted a little, bringing his arm up to rub at his eyes and felt Alfred laugh a bit, the boy’s arm instinctively tightening around Arthur’s waist.

“You awake, babe?”

Arthur sighed and sat up, stretching like a cat and grinning when Alfred watched him do so. The blanket fell down into a puddle near his feet, and Arthur was endeared that it had been put on him in the first place.

Alfred didn’t have to know about Arthur’s first intentions. Arthur could of course tell him in a few months or so, when it wouldn’t matter anymore. Right now he just wanted to enjoy the experience.

“Stay over.” Alfred murmured as he kissed Arthur’s ear. For a moment Arthur thought perhaps the boy was too tired to drive him home, but that thought was quickly discarded when Alfred leant down further and bit at his earlobe.

“Fine.” Arthur relented with a sly grin, grabbing their own dirty dishes to bring to the kitchen and knowing Alfred was following him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just proving how Murphy's law can work in one day, lol.

Having sex – or making love, as Alfred or Francis or whoever would have probably put it – with Alfred was much like any other interaction with the boy only hundreds times better.

Alfred was, simply put, a tornado raging over a town. Arthur wasn’t sure on which feeling or sensation he had to focus, and even the boy’s clumsiness and inexperience didn’t deter him from having a good time.

If all, it made it even better. He felt warm remembering the boy’s warm smiles and playful, boyish grins, uncertain hands touching his body, the eagerness to please so obvious in the American kid’s expression.

 Though he could do without some of the clumsiness next time. He had been momentarily annoyed the night before when Alfred had so obviously planned this – why else would the boy be so prepared – but it washed away quickly.

It was early for a Saturday morning, and Arthur had woken up before Alfred. They were turned to each other, sheets tangling in both their legs. Alfred lazily had one arm slung over Arthur’s waist in a way that was starting to become familiar.

Arthur took the time to study the peaceful expression on Alfred’s face. Without the glasses he had a slightly more babyish face, though not unattractive at all. His face was more relaxed than usual, no frown creasing his eyebrows and no grin stretching at his lips. He noticed that the boy occasionally mumbled in his sleep, though no real words were formed, and sometimes in the middle of a dream the boy would start to grin goofily (Arthur didn’t want to know).

He felt so damned light and giddy. Clad in only a rather oversized T-shirt Alfred had thrown him after they had cleaned up that night, Arthur felt surrounded by the boy. His sheets, his shirt, his body next to him – everything smelled and felt of Alfred and it was _amazing_.

Of course, he would never say that out loud. This wasn’t some romantic comedy.

Arthur allowed himself an indulgent smile as Alfred frowned for a moment, tightened his grip on Arthur’s waist and pulled him closer, before his face relaxed. Apparently the boy was on the verge of slowly waking up and doing everything in his power to stop it from happening.

Well, that was his own fault. Perhaps he should have closed the curtains more fully last night so that the sun wouldn’t be lighting up the room. Arthur just counted his blessings in the opportunity to watch the other, however creepy that might be.

Knowing that it was either going to lull him back into sleep or going to wake him up, he raised one of his arms and softly caressed Alfred’s face, before moving to his hair and threading through the locks. His hair wouldn’t cooperate however, falling back into place the moment Arthur had carded through it, but Arthur didn’t care.

Of course his stupid hair was perfect. Soft, his fingers carding through it with ease. It was a golden sort of blonde, highlighted by spending a lot of time outside. Underneath it, was tanned skin, though not overly or exaggeratedly. That along with the wide grins and sheepish smiles, or the boyish glint in his eyes – oh his _eyes_ , Arthur wanted to write poems about them more and more each day. Sometimes he wondered if they weren’t just simply the colour of the sky – and then it reminded him of a swimming pool, or the colour baby’s boys would be draped in.

And everything else too - the boy had to be bloody flawless, no freckles or weird eyebrows or whatever. Bloody show-pony. Arthur would bet his monthly allowance that Alfred’s face was symmetrical.

Alfred’s eyelids fluttered a little under the attention, a smile creeping on his face. Arthur tried once more to smoothen the unruly mop of hair before sliding his hand to the back of Alfred’s neck and tickling slightly at the little hairs there. Alfred was obviously awake or a good sleeper, he figured, with how he was pushing his head back into Arthur’s hand like a puppy.

He allowed himself to admit he was so utterly infatuated with this stupid boy.

At least he could keep his own secret. And perhaps he would one day tell Alfred. But for now he was satisfied with stealing moments like this, moments wherein he knew he could convey what he felt through touches and glances and it would be enough for Alfred for the time being. Heaven knows the poor sod needed the confirmation every now and then.

The moment was shattered by scratching coming from the doors and Alfred sighing exasperatedly. “Bad Oreo!” He said loud enough for the cat to hear but not loud enough to suddenly deaf the boy close to him. Arthur winced all the same by the sudden intrusion. The cat stopped, at least, heeding his owner’s words, trotting off while mewling.

“Stupid cat.” Alfred complained, and Arthur smirked. There was one thing Alfred loved above burgers, and it were his cats. To further make his point, Alfred snuggled closer to him, keeping his eyes clenched shut. He detangled his legs from the sheets only to entangle them with Arthur’s own. Arthur rolled his eyes as Alfred attempted to hide his face in Arthur’s neck, patting the boy on the head.

“Wake up, sunshine.” He deadpanned, and Alfred’s response was to blow a raspberry in his neck. He snorted rather unattractively as he tried to squirm out of the other’s grasp. Of course, for Alfred this was only initiative to hold him tighter and blow more raspberries on the other’s collarbone.

“Do you yield?” Alfred eventually asked, having wrestled Arthur on his back and hovering on top of him. Arthur glared mockingly. “It doesn’t matter.” Alfred decided when he didn’t get a response, and all but dropped himself onto the other.

Arthur wheezed lightly of the sudden weight – though he knew Alfred held himself up a little as to not completely squish him – and pushed at the other. Alfred didn’t relent however, so Arthur opted to play the game as dirty as Alfred did himself. He turned his head and licked the other’s cheek. Alfred all but squealed and moved away quickly, rubbing at the area with an offended look.

Arthur smirked. “Yesterday you promised me grilled cheese,” he reminded Alfred as the boy hid himself under the sheets again. He stretched a little and stepped out of the bed himself to go to the bathroom, faltering when Alfred burst into a fit of giggles.

“I was so right about the tattoo. But what on earth possessed you to tattoo a guitar on your butt- it is a very nice butt though, so perhaps I am a little jealous of the artist.”

Arthur felt his face warm up and pulled the shirt down slightly, hiding the mentioned tattoo underneath it and darting into the bathroom. He heard Alfred laugh gleefully as he did his things, rinsing his mouth with the mouthwash he found in hopes of ridding himself of morning breath.

Alfred apparently had no such ideas, because when Arthur walked back and searched around the bed for his boxers he snagged the boy down and planted an open mouthed kiss on his lips. Arthur scowled and Alfred got the hint, disappearing into the bathroom as well. Arthur tried not to notice that even though he was wearing a shirt, Alfred had opted to go to sleep in his birthday suit.

He came out of the bathroom wearing boxers however, scurrying about to gather his sweats and hoodie and taunting Arthur about how adorable he looked in Alfred’s oversized clothes (he had to borrow sweats from Alfred and they were ridiculous).

Downstairs they met a rather fresh looking Matthew and an extremely chagrin looking Gilbert, who was decidedly not a morning person.

“Had to go jogging.” Gilbert grouched as Arthur sat down next to him with a questioning frown. He nodded sympathetically.

“You didn’t have to come, Gil.” Matthew said, as if he were a mother soothing her child.

“That is bullshit, you all but dragged me out of bed. Don’t act so sweet now that they’re here!” Gilbert accused. Matthew started laughing and offered to make some tea, to which Arthur happily agreed. He was fortunate Alfred was lazy in the mornings like he was, because there would be no way he’d be dragged out of bed to go _jogging_. In _December_.

Alfred set to working up a breakfast for all of them, since the other two decided they wanted the same and had loudly protested when Alfred said they deserved no special treatment. The heat had been cranked up so that the house was comfortably warm, Alfred’s cats lazing in a patch of sunlight through the glass of the kitchen door. Gilbert was ineffectively trying to lure them with small sounds before giving up altogether, claiming that at least Kumajirou reacted to him.

“That’s because he hates your guts.” Matthew helpfully supplied as he stopped Gilbert from throwing a piece of paper to the two cats.

“Nobody hates the awesome me! He just has to warm up to me.” Gilbert quickly defended. Arthur listened to the two boys bickering about. His fingers itched to go and grab a cigarette from his bag, but he respected Alfred when the boy told him he didn’t want any smoking in the house.

He watched Alfred work around near the stove, conjuring up breakfast for three people in record time. It’d probably taste good too, the wanker. For some reason, every time Arthur tried to cook, all the appliances would fault. For example, the toaster always stayed on too long, or the clock wouldn’t work correctly so that he would burn stuff. That was it.

The conversation easily drifted into the topic of tonight’s party between Arthur and Gilbert. Matthew obviously didn’t really want to come but was obligated by Gilbert, and Alfred had kind of assumed he was going anyway. Arthur sighed; he was probably not going to go home the weekend after all. It only made sense to either crash at Antonio’s, where the party was at, or to drive back with Alfred. To be honest, he didn’t really _want_ to go home either.

Alfred turned around with a bright smile, dumping his breakfast on the place in front of him, and Arthur decided not to worry about it for now.

* * *

 

Antonio’s parties were always a bit more calm than others. Everyone respected the boy enough to not trash his house – as happened at Gilbert’s more times than Arthur could count – and everyone feared the wrath of his Italian boyfriend.

Lovino may be small, and he may look as if he couldn’t lift a pound, but the boy was as unpredictable as they come and was riled up in a matter of seconds.

Eventually Antonio grabbed Lovino away, sparing a couple of people of his wrath. Lovino always grumbled in Italian too, during these parties, and Arthur knew he was probably just gossiping his heart out.

Honestly, he did so with Francis in French so often as well. Especially during parties it was hilarious. And, if Arthur had to be honest, it used to attract quite a lot attention from the girls too – a guy with a fabulous British accent who could _also_ speak fluently French? Their pants went out of the windows.

Now that didn’t matter, of course. Though to be honest, he hadn’t seen Alfred for a while now. The boy wandered off with some of his teammates after giving Arthur a proper snogging, and Arthur had since left in search of better company.

Francis was too busy flitting around however, but Arthur noticed he was drunker than usual. That probably meant something was wrong, and he would corner his friend sooner or later, but for now Francis was intent on charming as many people as he could.

Matthew was actually _not_ with Gilbert for a change, which was quite the odd sight. He had no idea where the meek boy was, but it hadn’t been hard to find Gilbert. The boy was a storm on its own, and where there was shouting and other ruckus, there would Gilbert be.

They were in the middle of a ‘never-have-I-ever’ game as of current. Arthur didn’t know why he even bothered participating in these games anymore – usually the game was dominated by people who were so innocent it hurt, and he had to drink basically every time someone said something. It turned out into a competition with Gilbert and Lovino however, the three of them purposefully using things such as ‘never have I kissed a Canadian’ or ‘never have I licked tomato sauce off of someone’ just to watch the other fall.

Lovino was an adorable drunk, though. That alone made it worth it. Slowly and surely the angry exterior would ebb into something entirely more affectionate, to either Feliciano or Antonio. And as Feliciano was currently face-sucking Gilbert’s brother in a corner somewhere, that left Antonio, who looked as if he had been granted his biggest wish as Lovino all but draped himself over him during their game.

“Never have I ever tattooed my butt.”

 _That is so low of him._ Everybody looked around in confusion, certain no one was going to drink. Arthur made a show of glaring at Gilbert before quickly taking a sip, ignoring the surprised laughs and murmurs of people. It was his turn, after all.

“Never have I ever bottomed.” It was a foul play for him, because he had to drink himself, but he enjoyed Gilbert’s embarrassed expression and the gleeful shouts as they saw Gilbert drink anyway.

Alfred had confided in him earlier, in disgust, what Matthew had confided in him in satisfaction. Apparently it had taken Matthew a lot of persuading, and to pinkie-promise that it wouldn’t get out – because Gilbert often proclaimed himself to be the awesome epitome of awesome manliness.

After his third cup Arthur decided to call it quits – he was feeling pleasantly buzzed and he was certainly not going to get wasted so early in the evening. With how the game was going, everyone seemed intent on making himself and Gilbert drunk, so he best call the shots before that happened.

The group boo-ed and aww-ed as he left but he gave them the finger, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a new drink instead. In the kitchen he bumped into Alfred and three of his teammates, and he quickly tried to turn around to save Alfred the embarrassment.

Of course, Alfred had no idea what the word embarrassment even entailed, and had instead dragged Arthur even closer, happily brushing his lips across his cheek.  Arthur grumbled – their conversation was about football, because what else, and he was nowhere near interested in it – and shoved the other off of him, grabbing his drink. He watched Alfred for a while, Alfred shooting him an amused grin every now and then but staying immersed in his conversation.

“Guys!” A girl entered the kitchen, trading an empty bottle of beer for a new one. “You guys should come play.”

“Never have I ever, still?” Arthur said dully, watching the girl enthusiastically nod.

“Aw man,” Alfred said. “I never have done anything, _lame_.”

One of his friends slapped him on the back. “Dude, I can think up some things you’ve done.” He said, laughing as he shoved the American boy towards Arthur. Alfred laughed along merrily as his friends left and followed the girl.

Arthur sighed, pushing Alfred’s glasses back up his nose where they had slid off. Alfred’s hand came up to lightly dance his fingers on Arthur’s temple. “How’s your eye?”

“It’s fine.” Arthur said, sipping his drink and nodding back to the hallway. “Shouldn’t you go and play, then? They’ll miss you so.”

Alfred stuck out his tongue. “I rather play seven minutes in heaven with you.”

“Seven minutes? I ought to hope you last longer than that.”

“Way to blow someone’s confidence!”

“I’ll blow it all right.” Alfred laughed as Arthur smirked suggestively, grabbing Arthur’s drink and taking a large swig of it. “Keep it, greedy American.” Arthur said as he tried to return it. Alfred beamed at him and pecked him on the lips before following his friends.

As he grabbed yet _another_ drink he was then graced with the presence of his best friend. Francis froze when he spotted Arthur, but was trying to act so nonchalant into getting a drink that Arthur knew that he was not only wasted, but also bothered by something.

“What’s up, frog?”

Francis offered him a gracious smile – it bothered Arthur immensely. “ _Pas du tout! Ça va? Comment est ton oeil?”_

Arthur looked around them. They were the only ones there and so far as Arthur knew no one was eavesdropping on them. Why Francis was speaking in French was beyond him – or he was just so wasted that he couldn’t remember English, but that was unlikely.

“It’s fine.” He replied in English, refusing to indulge the other. “What’s wrong with you?”

“ _L’amour!”_ Francis decided on dramatically. He downed his cup of punch – which was spiked, Arthur happened to know – in one go, helping himself to a second serving. Arthur watched him down that as well, frowning. Apparently Francis wanted to party.

“Okay, who broke your heart this time?” Arthur sighed, smiling a little as he took a step closer to his friend. “Do I need to break someone’s arm?”

Francis rolled his eyes and slumped forward slightly, invading Arthur’s private space. “ _C’est tragique, rosbif. Je suis dans l’amour.”_

“Right,” Arthur snorted. “With the prettiest arse in the room, you mean?” Francis had never been in love – only in lust. No, that wasn’t true. He had seen Francis stare almost adoringly to an exchange student from Monaco that returned back home over a year ago, and he had lasted surprisingly long with a girl from France whom he often likened to Joan of Arc ( _Jeanne D’Arc, Arthur, s’il vous plaît_ ). Surprisingly long being more than two weeks.

“ _Un joli cul, bien sûr.”_

Arthur felt himself getting fed up with the other’s disuse of English. He rolled his eyes and patted Francis on the shoulder. “What is stopping you, then?”

Francis sighed forlornly and gave him a rather serious look. “ _Je ne sais pas, ma biche.”_

“Right.” Arthur deadpanned. “Why not drink a little more, then? Try and have fun- Hey!” He jumped in surprise as Francis draped himself over Arthur.

Arthur sighed – he wasn’t unfamiliar with Francis’ random bouts of affection. Lately they only occurred to rile Arthur’s sweetheart up, so he was kind of surprised when it happened without Alfred in the room. Though still, it was no unfamiliar sensation. He allowed Francis to give him a hug, the man mumbling under his breath.

“Why not go home instead?” Arthur eventually supplied. Francis shrugged and extracted himself, but not before dragging his stubbly cheek across Arthur’s own. Annoyed at the slight burn, Arthur rubbed at the spot, fixing the other with a glare. Francis smiled and just like that, darted out of the kitchen again.

Really, the man was a train wreck sometimes.

Arthur shuddered the weirdness off of him and re-entered the living room as well, finding that Antonio and Gilbert had also quit the game, and were instead standing near the television. Arthur joined them and easily involved himself in their conversation.

Lovino had apparently gone to try and beat Ludwig up – the keyword being try – and they were placing bets on how he would do it. Antonio was still all over the moustache technique Lovino pulled out last time he was drunk, though Gilbert had his money on a good old fashioned right hook. Arthur figured Feliciano would cry and thus would interrupt both the boys, but eventually it was neither of the three.

Instead, the moment Lovino approached the couple, he was jumped by his brother who dragged him away happily.

“How anticlimactic.” Antonio brooded, turning back to his friends.

An hour or so later, there was a sudden chaos in the middle of the room, people cheering and complaining. Arthur instantly knew what was going on. Two stupid kids probably got into a fistfight over something trivial again.

He couldn’t find Alfred though, so perhaps it was even him with the Russian going at it again. Why would be beyond him, but he hadn’t seen the boy in a while so who knows what could have happened. Debating whether or not he should just ignore what was happening or not, Arthur’s conscience got the better of him.

Besides, he did see Ivan in the corner talking to a brunette boy, and that meant it was _not_ Ivan that Alfred was quarrelling with. Was it even Alfred?

“Jones!”

It was Alfred. Who on earth was he rolling around with then? Feeling some sort of responsibility towards his… boyfriend, or whatever, Arthur pushed through the crowd to go and break the fight up. He froze on the spot though when he noticed who was fighting him.

Francis, despite for his girly attitude and fashion, had a mean fist in a fight. He wasn’t part of their troublemaker group just because of his flirty ways, of course. Many a time Arthur had to patch the Frenchman up in their junior years when Francis would clash with someone over something trivial as his hair, but it had mellowed down immensely ever since Francis spend more and more time with his sister and, generally, grew up more.

Arthur knew that Francis could definitely hold his own against Alfred in the fight, but that didn’t mean he liked to see the two of them rolling about. He was still frozen on his spot however, watching as eventually Ludwig of all people dragged Alfred away. It seems Alfred started it then, because if Francis started it he would’ve now gone for the dirty approach.

Instead, Francis looked rather miffed, standing up and dusting himself up as Alfred cursed at him, calling him all kinds of words that Arthur usually threw at the boy himself – albeit he did it companionably, and Alfred’s words were laced with anger.

Both of the boys landed their eyes on Arthur next, and he felt momentarily targeted as their next prey. Francis looked sad however, almost embarrassed, turning around and fleeing the scene. Frowning at the quite unexpected display of his friend, he turned back to Alfred. Alfred, looked livid still. He shrugged himself out of Ludwig’s grasp, and made a beeline straight for him.

For a moment Arthur thought he was next, and that Alfred was going to tackle him or punch him in the face for whatever reason. He flinched, but Alfred only reached out to grab his elbow, and then all but dragged him out of the room, leaving a surprised and gossiping crowd around them. He rolled his eyes at Antonio and Gilbert, figuring out that this was probably one of Alfred’s jealous temper tantrums and that he’d soothe the boy with perhaps making out a little or something.

Alfred didn’t stop until they were outside, and even then he was dragged into the small driveway next to house which was more out of sight.

“Alfred?” He started innocent enough, rubbing his elbow a little. The boy’s grip had been way too tight, but he was willing to overlook it.

“You fucking _liar_.” Dread gripped Arthur’s heart and filled his stomach. What? That could only mean one thing – Francis had told him. The bastard had actually been drunk enough that he - oh he was going to kill him.

“Alfred, look,” He had to be smart about this. But his mind was hazy through alcohol and he felt as if his heart was on his tongue. He had to be careful – he knew Alfred was buzzed too, and that could take a turn for the worse.  “The situation’s changed now, I no longer-“

“Oh my god, so that’s true too? I was just a joke to you, as well?”

Too? As well? What was he going on about? Arthur couldn’t see where this was going, and he shut up, mouth unable to move.

“How- I can’t believe you! First I have to hear from _fucking_ Francis that- you have totally been with him! I _asked_ you and you said you were just friends, why would you lie about that? And I thought, maybe, perhaps you were just embarrassed. And then he told me that I was only a fucking game to you, that you _used_ me in some sick vendetta against your parents?”

“Alfred, I-“

“He’s right, isn’t he? I beat him up, I couldn’t _believe_ that your self-claimed best friend would say that, but he was right, wasn’t he? Tell me Arthur, if you’re so fond of that snail slurper, why not use him in your plot? Or was using me fun for you?”

“No, I didn’t-“

“God, I am such an idiot. I totally fell for it. You must have had such a laugh, too! Hearing I was head over heels for you as you went through your twisted plan. Did yesterday even _mean_ anything to you, or are you just as heartless are you try to make me believe you are? I almost got fucking _thrown out_ of my house, Arthur, for you! But you probably had a good long laugh about that with your boyfriend, huh?”

 _What the fuck was happening?_ This wasn’t supposed to happen. How could Francis do this? No, he had to explain. This wasn’t- this wasn’t Arthur’s intention. Things changed. His mind reeled with things he wanted to say.

“Alfred, just listen to me. Francis and I are _long_ over and this,“ he wildly gestured between them. “Was not what I… I was wrong, okay? It was a stupid plan and it was childish but I didn’t mean it, especially not now-“

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear you lying again. All you do is lie! You lied about him, you lied about your family. After what happened last week- Jesus, I thought you were actually serious about us! I thought when you said… I fucking embarrassed myself, didn’t I?”

Arthur felt as if he were going to cry soon, why wouldn’t the bastard let him speak? Instead he reached his hand towards the boy, but Alfred took a step back. “Stay the fuck away from me. I mean it.”

Arthur watched, feeling as if his jaw dropped to the ground, as Alfred wrenched himself away and stomped down the driveway.

“Alfred, I-“ He was cut off by Alfred raising his middle finger, not even turning around. Helplessly he watched as Alfred got in his car and practically tore out of the street.

His blood boiled over the concern he felt. Hoping Alfred wasn’t going to crash or something in anger, he rushed back into the house. He was faintly aware of wetness on his cheeks, but he wasn’t going to admit that he teared up. Instead he pushed around until he found his target. Francis was obviously nursing his damaged pride, Gilbert and Antonio at his side.

“You!” Arthur seethed, pushing Antonio away so that he would have a better view. He had half a mind to jump Francis right there and then – no, he did. He lunged, feeling his fist connect with Francis’ scruff but missing any real part because Francis had apparently expected it.

“Arthur, what the hell?” Gilbert shouted, bodily throwing himself in front of Arthur’s way and blocking his path.

“Let me go! I am going to strangle you, Francis!”

“Okay, let’s get them out of here.” Antonio said instead, tugging Francis out of the room. He was causing a scene, Arthur noticed, but he didn’t care. He felt Gilbert tug him along as well, until they reached Antonio’s garage. It was cluttered, but empty, the music shut out when the door closed.

“Arthur,” Francis began, and he sounded so bloody _guilty,_ that Arthur tried to lunge for him again. Gilbert kept a steady grip on him however, his fingers digging into Arthur’s upper arm.

Antonio frowned. “What the fuck is going on? First Alfred, now you? Francis?”

Francis didn’t reply because of course he didn’t, the fucking wuss.

“You,” Arthur started, voice wavering amidst his anger. “You bloody _told_ him. He bloody told him! He _told_ Alfred about- about my plan, and about _us,_ Francis that was so fucking long ago and we were drunk out of our minds!”

“I wasn’t.” Francis eventually said softly, diverting his gaze. Arthur stopped mid-rant. What? What the hell did that mean? “You never did see the obvious.” And the look that Francis sent him was so disgustingly sad – Arthur recognized the look. It was the same look Alfred gave him so often.

“You- You’re not.” He said, voice turning from anger to disbelief.

Antonio and Gilbert were oddly quiet, apparently understanding this was a rather tense moment. At Arthur’s sudden lack of vigour, Gilbert released him too, though still standing close just in case.

“ _Oui, je sais. Je suis un imbécile.”_

“Since when? How? Why? Jesus, Francis, all this time you- you _encouraged_ this, why _ruin_ \- Why now?”

Francis obviously tried to get back in an airy, sarcastic mood, but it was failing horribly as Arthur fixed him with a glare. “ _Je ne sais pas_. That night, I think.”

The bloody frog had been in fucking love with him for how long and Arthur couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It was ridiculous. During these years, Francis has had more bed partners than Arthur had in his life. He took boys and girls home on pretty much every party, he flirted relentlessly with pretty much everyone. Actually, yeah, with everyone – everyone but Arthur, if you counted out the sarcastic and friendly flirts.

“I don’t know why I told him.” Francis said eventually, watching the inner turmoil on his friend’s face. Antonio had a rather morose, pitying expression, while Gilbert’s face was just confused and unreadable. “But it slipped out. He is such a force of nature, _non?_ ”

“Don’t fucking dare to talk about him.” Arthur threatened, anger still winning out over confusion, hurt and surprise. “He’s- he told me that- _damn it_ Francis!”

Antonio sighed, sensing the conversation was not going to progress. Knowing Arthur had come with Alfred, and was now definitely not going to ride back with Francis, he grabbed the two helmets behind him and nodded to the door. “I will take you home, Arthur.” He said, giving one of the helmets to Arthur.

Arthur wanted to decline – he wanted to punch that frog’s face in, but he knew he would be better off he were to follow Antonio.

“ _Sourcils,_ I am _-”_

“Don’t you fucking call me that.” Arthur spat at the affectionate nickname that Arthur had learned to accept, despite it mocking his eyebrows. “In fact, don’t call me at all. Come on.” He said, directing the last two words to Antonio. He left Francis and Gilbert in the garage, following Antonio back into the house.

Antonio managed to snatch Lovino away from his friends, asking if he could keep an eye out for a moment. The Italian cussed and shot Arthur a suspicious glance, but nodded, and soon he and Antonio were on the boy’s motorcycle driving towards Arthur’s house.

He ignored the surprised look of his mother – usually he never came home before midnight in the weekends, after all – and went straight up to his room, locking it.

He then proceeded to kick the door until his foot throbbed, and threw himself on his bed. Instantly he grabbed his phone. There were no messages, much to his disappointment.

_To: The Hero! :D  
11:43 P.M._

_Alfred, are you home safe?_

He waited, but nothing came. The prat. He could at least calm down Arthur’s nerves. What if he crashed in his rage or something? Arthur certainly wouldn’t put it beyond him.

_To: The Hero! :D  
11:55 P.M._

_Alfred, love, please talk to me. Let me explain._

He debated whether or not sending something with such an intimate word would do any good, but he already hit send before he could go back and correct it. Still, no reply. Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it.

_To: The Hero! :D  
12:14 A.M._

_I’m sorry._

He opened up a new text message, asking Gilbert if he would ask Matthew to ask if Alfred got home safe, or to just check if he went home himself. Fortunately, Gilbert simply sent back a thumbs up, followed by a ‘all = ok’ half an hour later.

Arthur threw his cell phone away from him, not caring where it landed and whether it was broken or not. He stuffed his face in his pillow, holding his breath until his lungs ached. Repeating the action a few more times before he felt dizzy, Arthur pinched his arms, kicked his sheets away and bit his lips until he tasted blood.

It didn’t do shit for calming it down, not this time. And he sure as hell wasn’t going back to self-harm, that chapter was over and done with even before he had come to America. Not over some bloody boy, and not over some stupid French guy.

And if he did cry himself to sleep rather loudly, well, Arthur would just deny it when his mother asked if he was okay the next morning. He ignored the woman altogether, what with her pathetic display of motherhood when her bloody husband punched him, and how she couldn’t even talk about it.

He skipped school, sitting down in the park instead and planning to smoke his entire pack of cigarettes. Kicking at the gravel under his feet, he smiled bitterly. His plan worked out perfectly, in the end. Piss of parents, disappoint them with showing he was queer.

And yet if he had _known_.

He cursed loudly, glaring at a passer-by who looked up in shock. He _should_ have picked someone else. He could have known Alfred Fucking Jones (he still had no idea what the F stood for, Arthur sadly realized) would worm his way into Arthur’s life like this. Bloody Americans.

One look at his cell phone, which displayed no new messages, made him snarl. He threw it next to him on the bench and pulled his legs up. He considered burning himself with the end of his cigarette – but he was _not_ going back there.

It tasted like shit anyway.

 _Of course_ it bloody did. As if there was nothing Alfred had not ruined.

Arthur hid his face and sniffled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pas du tout: Nothing  
> Ça va?: How are you?  
> Comment est ton oeil? : How is your eye?  
> C’est tragique. Je suis dans l’amour. : It’s tragic, I am in love.   
> Un joli cul, bien sûr.: A nice ass, indeed


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for too long.  
> I've proofread this chapter for like a dozen times but I have a bit of a migrain and if there's any mistakes, I won't be bothered to change them until tomorrow or something, so sorry <3

Of course, there would be gossip at his school.

First Arthur had been in a little trouble as he had skipped Monday and Tuesday. He weaselled himself out of it pretty quickly, conjuring a petty lie that the teachers seemed to accept without questions. Really, it was obvious that they just didn’t want to do the effort.

His own friends had wisely shut up about the entire matter. On Wednesday , Arthur returned and Francis had hightailed it out of there. On Friday he had been sat down by Antonio with a stern expression. Arthur refused to acknowledge him however – but he would still rather sit with his friends and the frog, than sit alone.

Besides, Francis was doing everything in his power to not annoy the Brit. He didn’t make any of his usual innuendos to anyone in their proximity, kept his mouth shut more often than not. Conversations existed of school subjects or upcoming parties with Christmas and all, and that was it.

The fact that he seemed to accept Francis back in the group only worsened the gossip. Word had gotten out that while with Alfred, Arthur was in an affair with Francis, because life just had to be a bloody romantic drama-soap for his school. Though it was also rumoured that they too had broken up, since Arthur did his best to avoid Francis otherwise.

Apparently the rumour had reached Alfred as well, because aside from giving Arthur the cold shoulder, he was still glaring at Francis every time he saw the other.

The rumour that Arthur’s fainting bruise was caused by Alfred was apparently also in circulation, despite that fact that Arthur had it since before the scene Alfred kicked. Every time anyone asked him anything concerning the gossips, he just snapped at them or threatened them, and eventually he was mostly left alone about the issue.

The gossip eventually reached it height when he was actually _approached_ by the whacko sister of the Russian, Ivan, who taunted him about Alfred finally realizing that Arthur was just trash, and how he would soon open his eyes and discover a whole new world – one with her in it, and that was a bit hilarious, seeing as how Alfred found the girl to be a psychotic weirdo, but okay.

He told her off but she continued, only leaving when he told her that while he didn’t hit girls, he certainly knew of a girl who would hit other girls. And he was under no illusion – if he’d give puppy eyes and a sad pout to Gilbert’s cousin’s girlfriend, she would fuck the girl up.

After that he was quite sudden left alone by the female population of their school, or well, the population that had been enamoured with Alfred.

The girls that were enamoured with _him_ however, were suddenly hotter for him than ever, despite the rumour of his _affair_ with Francis.

So the rumour was that he was dumped – which was true, even if Arthur didn’t admit it – and weirder still it made his reputation skyrocket. The girls all thought that he was sad, and that he had a big heart underneath his angry appearance. They all wanted to soothe him or help him take his mind off of Alfred, and whilst it had been tempting, he grew bored of them rather quickly.

Because he didn’t _want_ his mind off of Alfred, his subconscious provided before Arthur managed to squish it.

And apparently that hadn’t been entirely possible for Alfred too. The times he ran into the boy in the hallways – for they hadn’t seen each other in class yet – Arthur had felt a spike of hope in his chest every time the boy’s blue eyes landed on him. But Alfred always grimaced, corners of his lips dropping down as he glared, and Arthur always faltered, instead glaring back automatically.

He occasionally felt Alfred glare at his back during class, but that was all the interaction they had. Arthur was jeered at occasionally if he ran into the football team in hallways or outside or whatever, but they didn’t use any physical violence. Arthur was almost disappointed – he could beat someone up, it would do wonders for his mood.

Fortunately it would be Christmas break soon. He wouldn’t have to see anyone – especially not Alfred. It somehow hurt to see Matthew too, though the boy was as nice to him as ever. Matthew often sat with Gilbert of course, though apparently Arthur’s and Alfred’s incident put a strain on their relationship too.

Gilbert had loudly announced that Alfred was a complete fuck-up and a tosser in Arthur’s defence - and to be honest, it did make Arthur feel a little better that someone actually chose his side, whatever side that was. Matthew had frowned disapprovingly and had promptly gotten into a fight with Gilbert.

That left both Arthur and Gilbert in a foul mood the rest of the day, though the day after that Gilbert hadn’t been with them during lunch and after the weekend Matthew reappeared at their table, as if the entire thing had never happened.

But during Christmas break he could ignore everyone until the parties at least, because he was definitely going there to get wasted. He’d endure Christmas dinner with his family. He hadn’t even seen his stepfather more than five minutes since their fall-out, which was more than fine with him. And surely the bastard wouldn’t pick a fight with him during a holiday dinner. Come to think of it, his own mother would be there, so he’d be absolutely exemplary.

He was rudely interrupted from brooding about that upcoming dinner as the bell rang. He had purposefully avoided the math class – not because Alfred would be there, no, but because he would have to use the book Alfred had jovially scribbled and doodled in. He had been _this_ close to either chucking the book to Alfred’s head or burning it, but decided against that drama.

Besides, if he did that, he would have to do the same to the box of books in his room. And he was _not_ going to toss precious classics because of some lover’s quarrel.

Trudging into his Grad Transitions class, he sat down next to Antonio as usual. In front of them Lovino was busy on his phone, muttering something in Italian and cursing the stupid restaurant so Arthur figured it was about work. Antonio looked blissfully unaware of the sullen mood both boys around him, instead cheerfully asking Arthur about his day.

It was easy – this was good. He could just try and pretend nothing happened. Antonio and Gilbert were pretty good friends in that area.

His mood worsened however when Alfred all but stumbled into the classroom, laughing with the Asian kid Arthur had never been introduced to. As if feeling Arthur’s glare, Alfred turned and locked eyes with him as well, and Arthur was shocked when they lacked their usual anger. Instead Alfred’s face was unreadable, and he turned back to his friend as they sat somewhere in the back of the classroom.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed without much trouble. Arthur skipped lots of the classes he had taken to attending in an attempt to impress Alfred, wondering why he ever wanted to do so in the first place and found that he hardly ever saw the boy.

It was almost as if it had never happened – he used to never notice the American kid either, was in fact a little surprised when Francis had told him they shared so many classes. And if someone were to accuse him of avoiding the kid, well, Arthur couldn’t say they weren’t right.

Because no matter how you look at it, looking at Alfred still hurt. Alfred had stopped with the glaring though Arthur wasn’t sure what his expressions were now – for some reason not being able to read the expression made him feel queasy, and thus he had taken to double his avoiding efforts with the class-skipping.

And he was just so _angry_ at Alfred. The boy had not even given him a chance to explain! He knew what he had heard hurt Alfred, of course it would. But what with how smitten the boy had always seemed, he had secretly thought that Alfred would take it all with a grain of salt.

He was happy with the ways things were going now – well, not happy, but it was okay for him because he could ignore the hurtful feeling he got when he had to look at Alfred and slowly but surely he could rekindle his friendship with Francis by not glaring at him anymore – when Alfred had to ruin things.

For some reason, the last week before Christmas break, Alfred had been trying to approach him. Always when Arthur was alone too, walking to class or roaming the hallways or lockers. At first Arthur had anticipated a fight – but he noticed the same unreadable expression from before, and Arthur had chosen the one real option; he had fled the scene immediately. Turning away and leaving was always the easier thing to do, after all.

By Wednesday Alfred had decided to up his game and even tried to approach him in classes, where Arthur was definitely not alone, but Arthur wasn’t going to give him the time of the day. Alfred was easily deterred when Arthur would glare at him rather venomously, making a point of talking to whoever he was with and not wanting to be interrupted. If Gilbert, Antonio or Tino (those were his unknowing helps here) noticed, they didn’t mention it. Even Lovino kept his mouth shut, opting to weirdly stare at Alfred as he approached and left.

Arthur wasn’t even sure why he was suddenly the one giving the other the cold shoulder. A week ago, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to talk to Alfred and talk things out.

The illusion however was long gone on Arthur. Alfred most likely only wanted to smoothen things out so that they wouldn’t be enemies or whatever, especially now that the break was so close and Alfred was going to Canada for the entirety of it. Hell, the boy probably didn’t want any sour feelings between any kind of person and him (well, maybe except for Ivan) during New Years.

Alfred always wanted to be the better person, or the hero as he called himself, and Arthur wasn’t going to give him that opportunity.

Because being _friends_ with Alfred would be so, so much worse. The idea hurt. He’d rather stay like this, pretending they didn’t know each other at all.

Actually either option was just terrible, because acting like he did not know the other only served to make him resentful. Especially since they had kind of gotten to things rather fast in their relationship, and more so because of all the things Alfred had entrusted him with. Or the things Arthur had in turn told to him.

But, Arthur decided not to dwell on his feelings for too long, deciding to rather let them run their course. He had idly wondered if this was what people called ‘heartbroken’, but he still functioned normally and didn’t cry (anymore). Instead he felt angry, snappy and vengeful, despite it being _him_ that ruined this thing from the start. It was easier to put the blame to Alfred too, he realized with a pang of self-loathing, than it was to put it on himself.

Though he was still disappointed in himself. His feelings towards Alfred were constantly fighting over attention with his feelings towards Francis, feeling as if he was the one that fucked up both relationships.

He hated not having the man around to complain to and to hang with if everything would be too much, but he was still way too upset to consider friendly chatting with the Frenchman. Though he was his best friend, and even after something as stupid as this Arthur would trust his life to the other.

He supposed that after Christmas and New Year, he could set up some resolutions or something cliché like that. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that he had in fact already forgiven Francis, because if what he had said was true and if the boy was actually in love with him, well, love made people do stupid things. So after New Year at least Arthur could rekindle their friendship, as long as it was clear that Francis’ feelings were not returned.

His constant inner turmoil had actually made him a lot quieter and calmer at home, though. He didn’t even contradict his mother on having to do chores or her just saying idiotic things, and just did as he was told in hopes of avoiding more stress. Somehow even Peter picked up on it, and instead of constantly trying to get his attention or annoying him, he had opted to just sit in the same room with Arthur occasionally and be quiet.

It almost felt like a normal family, Arthur thought with some hilarity. Not long after this and he could imagine actually building some kind of bond with his younger brother. Well, that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen, Arthur figured. They had been able to get along when they were younger, after all. Though their ages weren’t really compatible at the moment, he could imagine them having a slightly better bond in a few years.

Thursday that week, he was unpleasantly surprised with the douche coming home early from his night out with the ‘boys’, whoever they had to be. He had actually been downstairs with Peter watching television, listening to his mother clean the dishes in the kitchen when the man stormed in.

First it seemed that he was going to ignore the boys completely, instead going to the kitchen to greet his wife.

Peter and Arthur wrinkled their noises simultaneously – the stench of smoke and alcohol was strong this time. Apparently the man had gotten himself drunk. Lucky bastard, Arthur could go for that right now.

“Go upstairs.” He muttered in a random bout of brotherly behaviour. Peter wanted to protest but he glared and the boy relented. He dramatically put on a show off closing his Nintendo, getting up from the couch, and sneaking up the stairs.

Arthur sighed, shutting of the television. He should probably go upstairs too.

“Well if it ain’t the family fag!” _Too late_. He grimaced as the man appeared in the doorway of the living room, eyes focused on Arthur.

“Why don’t you go to bed, dear?” His mother helpfully said from behind him. It would be a good idea to listen, but Arthur was feeling rebels. As usual, when faced with the ugly image that was his stepfather.

“Like fuck I am.” He said, irritated, sitting up from his slouched position all the same. He was all for a good verbal thrashing – he needed to release some tension too, stat.

“Don’t you talk to yer ma like that.”

“I’ll talk however I want. Jesus, you reek.” Arthur gagged as his stepfather took steps closer to him. “Get a bloody shower or something.”

“You betta listen to me and your ma, Artie-“

“It’s Arthur, you fucking pig.”

“I have had it up to here with you!” The man snarled. Arthur was about to retort something witty when he was all but dragged from the couch in a standing position, his stepfather holding him by his collar. “We try to be good parents, but ye seem hell bent on making our lives a living hell. Smoking, drinking, stuffing your face with fucking metal,”

“Let go of me, you fucker!” Arthur said, flinching as the man all but spat in his face. He struggled, sending a look over to his mother. This was starting to be eerily familiar to a night before. The woman was looking at the scenery rather helplessly. He wasn’t surprised she wouldn’t step in.

He _was_ surprised when he was kneed in the stomach. Released from the man’s grip, Arthur practically fell to his knees, coughing. What the _fuck?_

“And you’re one of ‘em bloody faggots too, as if you hadn’t shamed me enough already! I’ll disown you as easily as we did that retard of a brother-”

“Jim,” his mother began, but she was cut off with a gasp. Arthur had stood up, holding his stomach in one arm, and shoved his stepfather away from him. The man stumbled away from him, and Arthur hoped he tripped. He didn’t of course, and his expression contorted into anger even more. Arthur lashed out, hitting the man in his face, but he knew from experience that whilst drunk, you could become disoriented quicker, but you could also not feel your injuries.

He was hit in his own jaw rather strongly, another punch hitting him in the side of his head. Because of the sheer surprise, he tumbled backwards and tripped over his own feet, falling down again. “Jim, stop it.”

“I _will_ teach you a lesson, you fucking assjacker. I will not stand for the likes of you in my house!”

“You’re a fucking wankstain, and I _will_ call the police on you, you bloody-“

He heard his mother starting to cry, but that was pretty much all he managed to understand still when he was kicked in the stomach once, twice. He spat and cursed, tears forming in his eyes as he tried to get up, but when the man dragged him up and shoved him away, he slipped and hit his head hard on something and blacked out.  


* * *

 

The first thing Arthur noticed when he woke up was a blinding headache. It hurt to open his eyes, so he kept them close for a little longer, blinded by the bright light around him. Quelling the nauseous feeling in his stomach, he wondered if he was hungover again.

He couldn’t remember getting drunk, so perhaps someone had slipped something in his drink during a party?

But it came back to him quickly – he hadn’t been on a party. And this was definitely not a hangover. And his stomach area _fucking_ hurt.

Taking a few deep breaths, Arthur managed to crack his eyes open slightly. It still hurt, but he managed to adjust to the bright light in the room – with disdain he noticed it was a bloody hospital room, too. It hadn’t been _that_ dramatic, he had been kicked around more often in his life. Though his _head_ …

“Take it easy, kid. Ya got a concussion.”

Whirling around to spot where that voice came from was definitely not good, and he felt as if he were going to hurl. Groaning miserably and dropping his head back, he shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths again. _Get a fucking grip._

“I’ll get tha doctor.” Allistor grumbled. He heard a chair scrape back slightly before someone was walking away, and why the hell was Allistor even here? Hadn’t he been back in Scotland?

“Arthur?”

He managed to open his eyes again, and he was met by the turquoise like eyes of his brother Dylan. At least it made sense that Dylan was here, he at least still lived in the bloody States, only half an hour from where Arthur lived himself. They just rarely saw each other because Dylan was pretty busy with college and his part time job.

“Yeah.” He croaked. Fuck, he was thirsty. Dylan apparently understood, handing him a glass of water from his bedside table.

He wanted to down the entire glass, but after a few gulps he felt sick as hell once more, so he settled with what he could. He noticed he shared the room with one other person too, an elderly man lying diagonally from him, asleep.

Allistor walked back into the room with a man in a white coat, presumably his doctor then. Sitting down, Allistor and Dylan leant back a little as the man approached Arthur.

“Good afternoon mister Kirkland, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” He spat, not in the mood for being polite. The doctor merely nodded – honestly, he probably had to deal with little brats all the time, Arthur thought – before grabbing a small light.

“Can you follow the light for me?” He asked, before shining it in Arthur’s eyes. He flinched at the sudden brightness, his head throbbing, but he did as he was told. “Okay, good. On a scale from one to ten, how much does your head hurt?”

He wanted to say a fucking hundred, but he had to be serious. “Seven.” He said instead, knowing what the scale meant.

“And your chest and stomach?”

“Six, I think.” It throbbed less, though still hurt. “What’s the damage?”

The doctor wrote something on the paper on his clip before giving him a friendly, neutral smile. “You have a slight concussion, as well as two bruised ribs. No internal bleeding however, so after I run some tests you’ll be dismissed. The nurse will come in soon with some painkillers. I suggest you rest a little before then.”

The man turned back to Arthur’s brothers, explaining that he wasn’t allowed to leave by himself, that someone had to wake him up when he slept every two hours, and other information Arthur really couldn’t care about. Allistor was keeping a stern eye on him however, Dylan conversing quietly with the doctor.

Once the doctor left, Arthur scowled at the two men next to him. Specifically at Allistor. Sensing the mood, Dylan sighed. “I’m going to get something to drink. Arthur, I took the liberty to reply to your friend Francis that you were in the hospital.” Arthur cursed – why had Francis texted him anyway?  “And weirdly enough there is some American kid in the waiting room for you. Do you want me to send him in?”

Again, Francis couldn’t keep his blabbering mouth shut. He supposed it was Francis’ way of atoning for what he had done – only he didn’t seem to realize that that was the last thing Arthur wanted.

“Send him off, I bloody well don’t want to see that tosser.” He said angrily. Fuck Alfred, he had no right to come here. Dylan nodded and left him alone with Allistor next. Sighing moodily, he turned his head slightly to his older brother.  “And what the hell are you doing here?”

“Don’t give me that attitude.” Allistor scolded, frowning. “You were out since yesterday afternoon. I flew over last night.”

“Why?”

“You’re ma fucking baby brother, that’s why. Seamus wanted to come as well, but he’s stuck in work.” Sure he was. “I gotta help ma move him out later though, if ye don’t mind.”

Move him out? He didn’t mind, no, because that bastard shouldn’t be within a one mile radius of his mother and brother, and because frankly said he wasn’t even sure why Allistor was here in the first place. “What do you mean move him out?”

“Like hell if I’m going to let her live with that hamshank a second longer.” Oh, so that’s why. Well, at least the woman regained some of her senses then. Peter didn’t deserve to live with that wankstain either. “What the fuck happened, Art?”

He sighed. He couldn’t deny that the concern and brotherly protectiveness sounded real. It reminded him of when he was still a brat in England, and got beat up by someone in his soccer team. Allistor had beat the shit out of the kid later, getting in trouble afterwards. He knew his brothers were firm believers of ‘only we get to beat up our brother’ or whatever, even though that was pretty messed up too.

“What do you think happened?” He groaned, clutching his head. It still throbbed terribly, and he hoped that nurse was coming soon. “He beat me up, that is. Because I’m…” He faltered, and rolled his eyes. Allistor chuckled.

“Because ye’re a jobby jabber.” He didn’t know the Scottish slang, but he had a faint idea that they meant the same. “You should’ve seen Dylan, it was frightening.”

“What?”

“He lost his shit, even punched the bastard in the eye when he had the gall to show up.”

“He showed up, here?” Arthur asked, incredulous.

“Yeah well, he wanted to be sure that no one was gonna rat him out or something. I told him to get fucked and he left with ma afterwards. If ya wanna, rat him out I mean, we’ll get to that later.” Now there was an attractive idea. Arthur grimaced; He sorely didn’t want to go home, but that was a problem for later. He was fairly sure his brothers – or well Dylan mostly - weren’t just going to leave him with the man.

Suddenly there was a little ruckus at the door, and Arthur and Allistor looked up in surprise. Dylan was looking rather angry as he tried but failed to drag Alfred out of the room, the latter trying to shuffle his way over to Arthur.

“Artie, what the-“

Allistor rose to his full height, which wasn’t a lot taller than Alfred to be honest, but stomped over to the American anyway. “He doesn’t want to see you, ya bawbag, get the fuck out.”

“Dude, not cool. Please let me-“

“Go away, Alfred.” Arthur said, annoyed. It hurt to see the hurt expression spreading over Alfred’s face, but he was going to stand his ground. Alfred had been so keen on not letting him explain or speak, so what changed? Nothing, that’s what changed.

“Arthur?” Alfred said softly. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to-“

“Didn’t you fucking hear him, aye?” Allistor grabbed the boy by his collar. “Get out of here before I make ye.”

Dylan scoffed, looking back when a nurse came in, her expression curious and suspicious. “Allistor, don’t pick a fight with him in here of all places. Just leave, Alfred, Arthur is going to be okay.”

Seeing Arthur turn away from him, as well as the two brothers physically keeping him back, Alfred deflated. He mumbled an apology before all but storming out of the room, leaving behind a rather foul taste in Arthur’s mouth. The nurse approached him however and gave him a few painkillers he gladly swallowed.

“The doctor is almost finished so you can go and change, but I want to redress your bandage first.”

Odd, he hadn’t even known he had a bandage. Though the slightly constricting feeling in his head proved otherwise.  Scowling when he saw the bandage was a little bloodied, he was relieved when the woman told him that the wound on the side of his temple had closed and was probably not going to be a very visible scar. The stitches would dissolve on their own too, so he wouldn’t have to worry about that.

After she was done, Dylan helped him out of bed and gave him a neat stack of clothes he probably got from the house. Fully dressed and ready to get the fuck out of here, he sat back on the bed and cradled his head. The painkillers were working, fortunately, but there was still a dull, painful throb.

“I cleaned out the spare room for you,” Dylan said as he handed Arthur his other personal stuff, cell phone, wallet, etcetera. “And I got two days off work too.” At Arthur’s confused expression, Dylan offered a lopsided smile. “You didn’t think you were going home, were you? You’re staying with me, for as long as you want of course.”

“But what about mom and Peter?”

“They’ll be fine.” Allistor grumbled. “As I said, I’m going to help them move the bastard out to his mum. Peter doesn’t know what happened either, only that you’re moving out.”

“She told me you weren’t happy, Art. And I figured you could use a change of scenery. Don’t worry, I’m hardly ever home as it is, you’ll have the place for yourself.”

“Just don’t burn down his kitchen.”

“You wanker, I would-“ He was cut off in his rant towards a smug looking Allistor when the doctor came back in, showing him the positive test results and clearing him for going home.

He was immensely relieved to notice Alfred hadn’t actually stuck around, the hospital hallways being calm. Allistor parted from them on the parking lot, going over to their mum and little brother, while Arthur and Dylan took Dylan’s car to his apartment. It was a little bit further away from school, but there was a bus practically in the street itself so it wouldn’t be a hassle.

Honestly, he was kind of relieved that Dylan was willing to take him in. Even more surprisingly that Dylan was willing to put up with him – no, that _Allistor_ had been uncharacteristically nice blew his mind more.

At his stormy expression, Dylan sighed, tapping the steering wheel a little. “You’re our brother, Arthur, don’t be so surprised.”

“Yeah, well. _You_ I can somehow understand, but him? Last time we met he fucking shoved my face in a table himself.”

“That’s just how they are. When you were too young to be shoved around, I was their target. Peter would’ve been their next if they hadn’t moved out when they did.” He offered his younger brother a smirk. “And you _always_ react strongly too, which makes it funnier.”

 “Don’t take their sides. They’re brats.”

“I’m not, and they are, but they’re your brothers.” They continued driving in silence for a little while, Arthur feeling the nausea subsiding some. His stomach and chest still felt unbelievably sore, and he was definitely not going to school that week, he decided. “So, that boy. Was that the kid Allistor told me about?”

“I don’t know what Allistor told you, but that _kid_ is a thorn in my eye.”

“So he is. What’s his name?”

Arthur sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to do this. Seeing Alfred had left him moody – and sad. And angry. And a lot of other things. “Alfred Jones. He’s in my class. Why did you text Francis, anyway?”

“He texted this morning to ask where you were and that he wanted to talk.”

Oh _jolly_. Just what he needed. Well, he supposed Dylan couldn’t have known he was currently fighting with either boy. That reminded him – he grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket. Apparently someone had taken the liberty to charging it as well, seeing as the battery was nearly full. Unlocking it, he noticed he had tons of messages.

And, most of them, of course, were from Francis and Alfred.

Other messages, from Tino, Mathias, Antonio and Gilbert, were just general messages about stuff at school, about Alfred and Francis, or about parties. So they didn’t know, which was good.

Francis however send him at least a dozen texts, asking how he was and how he was going to curse his stepfather into Dante’s deepest level of hell. He was obviously concerned, though he clouded it with sarcasm and humour, as they would usually do. It felt familiar, and his hands itched to reply. Eventually he gave in – Francis only meant well.

_To: Francis  
3:02 P.M._

_I’m fine. Staying over at Dylan’s for the time being. Won’t be back until after Christmas break._

Almost instantly, he got a reply.

_From: Francis  
3:03 P.M._

_That is good to know. Perhaps we can meet up before then?_

_To: Francis  
3:03 P.M._

_I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll see you soon._

There was no reply, and Arthur knew Francis was probably a little hurt, but he couldn’t see the Frenchman yet, especially not in his condition. He was afraid he was going to start a fight, and he really didn’t need that right now.

Surprisingly, there weren’t as much from Alfred as there have been from Francis. The first message explained that Francis had told him that he was in the hospital, and if he was okay. A few hours later he apparently got concerned, sending three texts in a row asking him why he wasn’t responding and if that was because he was angry, because he was really worried and just wanted a reply.

Then a message wherein Alfred told him fuck it, he was going to the hospital to see him, whether he wanted it or not.

The latest text was from roughly fifteen minutes ago.

_From: The Hero! :D  
02:48 P.M._

_Please talk to me, I know I overreacted and I should’ve let you explain and I’m so, so sorry_

That stung. He blinked, feeling his eyes becoming bloody _wet_ – and he was not going to cry. But the reality of what happened not only just yesterday, but this entire month, caught up to him, and he coughed as he tried to cover up his sob.

Dylan didn’t say anything, fortunately, keeping focussed on the road as if his little brother wasn’t having a mental breakdown right next to him.

It helped his mood, but the throb in his head got worse. When they finally arrived at Dylan’s place, he was shown to his room rather quickly, all but falling down on the bed in exhaustion. He faintly heard Dylan comment on how he was going to wake him up in a while or so to check on his head, before the door shut and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Despite being briefly woken up every two hours or so, even during the night, having to answer the most ridiculous questions, he managed to get some rest until afternoon on the next day. Groggy from his long rest, he decided he felt gross. After taking a shower – which took longer than he wanted to admit – he managed to pull himself up on the stool on the other side of the counter in Dylan’s kitchen. The apartment faintly reminded him of a simple studio, but bigger. It wasn’t really built for two people, but Arthur wasn’t going to live here for the rest of his life, he knew.

Dylan stood on the other side of the counter, sliding him a freshly set mug of tea whilst reading the paper. “I’m going to go grocery shopping later– there is literally nothing in the fridge.” He commented dryly and Arthur snorted – student life. “And I’m going to have to work on a few essays tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.” Arthur agreed. Just because he was in the state he was in didn’t mean he needed babysitting.  “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I already moved some of your stuff here yesterday, Allistor will be with the rest later this week. I put that box of books in your room too.”

Oh. That box. His heart panged – he had pushed the box into a corner after what happened last week, deciding he was going to return it to Matthew or hide it somewhere.

“That’s… yeah, okay. Thanks.”

They sipped their drinks in silence, Dylan looking over a few magazines on the counter and Arthur just staring into nothing. He couldn’t get his mind off of what happened with his soon to be ex-stepfather (he hoped, at least) nor could he stop thinking about Alfred’s messages. He felt rage and disbelief over both of them, but he _longed_ to reply to Alfred and… and something.

He sighed, pitying himself a little. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t Alfred just keep on hating or ignoring him or something? No, instead he had to make it abundantly clear that he still cared, and honestly that’s just going to fuck Arthur up if nothing else.

It surprised Arthur how easy life with Dylan eventually turned out to be. Soon Arthur didn’t have to be woken up so much anymore, which considerably lightened both of their moods as they needed their sleep. Much like Arthur, Dylan was a horrible cook, so they often ate microwaved dinner or take-out, but that was fine.

Eventually Dylan had to go back to his part-time job and college too, so Arthur was left alone in the apartment during the days and sometimes even evenings. Unlike at his home with his mother, he didn’t start to feel caged during his isolation this time.

Once his head had stopped throbbing all the time, he had worked himself back to the box of books and went through them at a languid pace. Tiring of that he had considered asking Dylan to borrow money for a gaming console, but had instead been pleasantly surprised when he had discovered Dylan received HBO. Needless to say he binge-watched more series than would be healthy to admit.

It had been quite clear from the moment Arthur moved in here, that there would be no Christmas family dinner this month. He heard his mother was taking Peter to England to their grandmother, and she had asked if he had wanted to come, but he had declined. He wasn’t sure how he would feel about travelling across the ocean with her and his brother yet, mostly because he would be stuck in one place with them during the entirety of the break. His grandmother was a lovely person though, so he did call her and explain what had happened, saying he would go visit her during the summer instead.

He knew Allistor and Seamus wouldn’t be in the States either, having plans on meeting their own father back in the United Kingdom. The only one who was also keen on staying home was Dylan. Arthur had first thought it was because he pitied his younger brother, and had a good long argument about it, but eventually Dylan managed to convince him by showing him all the work he had cut out for him.

Simply said, his older brother was buried underneath work and college, and he had never been close with his own father anyway, so staying home was really the smarter thing to do. He was most likely going to spend every day of Arthur’s break in the college building or library, or in his office anyway.

As the years before, Arthur had been invited to Francis’, but he had declined that as well, even if the idea were attractive. He knew Francis pretty much knew Arthur had long forgiven him, since they had been maintaining contact via phone the last few days and had fallen back into an easy banter, but Arthur wasn’t comfortable with something so familial yet.

Whilst he had plenty of time to do his schoolwork, read books, binge-watch series and movies, Arthur also had enough time for less gentlemanly activities. He grimaced as he caught himself again scrolling through Facebook, lingering at every update from Alfred. The boy was in Canada with his brother and mother, and posted quite a lot of pictures of what they were doing.

Well, at least one of them was happy, then.

His mood over the boy only worsened during Gilbert’s annual Christmas eve party, wherein the boy spend most of the evening whining about missing his birdie. Fortunately Antonio and Francis felt much the same about the whole ‘woe-is-me’ attitude from the white-haired kid, and Gilbert managed to snap out of it with enough slaps across his head.

The evening had been entirely too emotional for Arthur and if he had known beforehand that he would’ve probably not come, but the moment he stepped into the house Francis had him cornered and didn’t let him go for the rest of the evening.

Which was kind of comforting too, since he missed his friend sorely and Francis’ usual behaviour was a big relief. It was entirely too easy to fall back into the old routine, bickering and snidely remarking at each other whilst grinning amicably. Francis had then personally invited him over for dinner later that week, because his mother was kind of offended that Arthur had declined earlier, and he didn’t have the heart so say no this time.

After that he had a kind of weird heart-to-heart talk with the Frenchman (they were both rather tipsy, so that was probably to blame), and despite hating talking about his feelings they managed to clear things up and before long Arthur knew all was forgiven and forgotten. Francis admitted to having a big crush on Arthur, but also to knowing it wouldn’t work out, and the topic had died off from there on.

On Christmas day itself he was forced out of the house, slightly hungover still, by his older brother, who claimed they might as well make it a family day anyway. They had actually gone to the _zoo_ (on bloody Christmas so it was immensely crowded), but Arthur supposed it was fun. Even if Dylan spend an unhealthy amount of time crowing over the sheep and goats in the petting zoo, Arthur secretly taking pictures in case he ever needed to blackmail his older brother.

Whilst waiting for his brother to return from a snack stand, Arthur sat down on a bench in front of the hippo reserve and stared at his phone. Apparently Alfred had gone on some kind of hike in the mountains the day before with Mattie, judging by his photos. Arthur closed his page with an annoyed sigh – _why_ did he keep checking on the boy? He was only hurting himself.

There was a ping as he was notified of himself being tagged in a picture, and send a deadpan look at his approaching brother when it was a picture of himself, grinning a little as he observed a monkey flipping out with a younger family member. Apparently Dylan was just as good as taking sneaky pictures.

Dylan handed him his hotdog and smirked. “Now when he stalks _your_ Facebook, he can see how you’re doing too.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Arthur quickly said in his defence, feeling his face heat up a little.

“Oh please, it’s easy to look over your shoulder, you pipsqueak.” Dylan said, leaning it to ruffle his hair but having his hand slapped away just in time. “Alistair only told me you and the boy went out once. I assume it was more?”

“I so don’t want to talk about this.”

“Toughen up.”

Arthur scowled at his brother, who was giving him a smug smirk. He was in no way comfortable talking and gossiping about his love life with _any_ member of his family, so he decided to keep it simple. “It was more, and I fucked it up. As per fucking usual.” Arthur grumbled instead, wincing at admitting it was his own fault.

Dylan hummed, having finished his snack and wiping his hands on his trousers. “I figured as much. But why the vendetta still?”

“Because, insert story I am not going to share.” Arthur deadpanned, having also finished his hotdog. He stood up abruptly to continue on, and was glad to notice Dylan dropping the subject and following.

On their way home they had gotten ridiculous amounts of Chinese takeaway, lounging in front of the television where Dylan revealed having bought a PlayStation for the both of them for Christmas. They played some Call of Duty until it was time to go to bed, and all in all, it was a rather okay Christmas after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A jobby jabber is a homosexual. 
> 
> Also, next chapter is probably going to be the last :)
> 
> ALSO V.2. I have no idea how or why but I'm obsessed with the Kirkland brothers all of a sudden. Man, I totally am going to give them some more love in future stories.


	11. Chapter 11

January was proving to be quite exhausting, Arthur realized. Aside from getting back into the routine of having to go to school after having been out of it for so long, he had had a little trouble adjusting to his new home.

For example, busses stopped in his street, but they came irregularly and they annoyed the hell out of him.

Also, he had kind of started to appreciate what he had when he was still living with his mother. Dylan was actually making him clean up, not only after Arthur himself, but occasionally after him too, should Dylan be too busy with his studies.

He had visited his mother a few times already, mostly on her request, but found that despite his earlier argument, he didn’t really have any interest in going home. She seemed to be okay with that, albeit a bit forlornly, but accepted it nonetheless.

And he had actually gotten a job. Granted, it was a part-time one at the local supermarket, but it was more than Arthur had expected in the first place. He had even removed his bridge for the occasion, getting tired of the thing anyway. Even if he disliked the place immensely (mostly because certain friends often came in to be annoying little shit-faces), he kept telling himself it was only to save up for college, so that he could get his own place.

The last but not least of his seemingly endless list of problems was, of course, still Alfred Jones. Arthur chewed his lip and frowned as he watched the boy walk over to his table with friends in the cafeteria, bright smile on his stupid face.

The boy had stopped approaching him as he had done before Arthur had landed in the hospital, and Arthur wondered if his refusal of seeing him or him ignoring his texts had anything to do with it. Probably.

He _really_ regretted not responding to Alfred’s texts, but there was no way he could respond to them now, almost a month later. That would just be weird.

At least school passed as normally as it always did. No one he knew was any the wiser about the slowly disappearing stitches on his temple, or the way he was more careful with his middle section the first few days. Francis hadn’t blabbed for once, to which he was intensely grateful. In fact, he doubted a lot of his friends even knew he had moved out, aside from Francis, Gilbert and Antonio.

Of course that meant Lovino and Ludwig knew, and by extension Feliciano and the rest of the Beilschmidt family. As well as Matthew. And probably even Alfred, though Arthur wondered if he cared still.

And at least it was as if nothing had ever happened between him and Francis. First, the boy had kept the physical part of their relationship to a minimum, going out of his way not to incidentally touch the other in anything else than a friendly manner. After New Year’s Arthur had rolled his eyes, given him a close-mouthed kiss on his lips when it was midnight, and claimed that Francis had better go back to being his best, annoying friend again or something terrible was going to happen.

So when they returned to school and Francis draped himself over Arthur in his usual manner in greetings and goodbyes, no one was very surprised. He _had_ caught Alfred watching them weirdly, but Arthur was exhausted with trying to figure out the boy’s unreadable expressions. And it wasn’t as if what Alfred thought was going to impact him in any way, either, so he tried to ignore it as best as he could.

Life was back to normal, it seemed.  Of course good things never lasted, so when it was the end of January, life decided to fuck him over again. In of course, he could have known, something as stupid as the upcoming Valentine’s day.

Gilbert currently sat in front of him, looking around smugly. Seeing Matthew was nowhere in sight, he leant forward conspiringly, attracting attention from his friends.

“Okay, so, I’m going to take Mattie for a hike during Valentine’s weekend.” He then went into excruciating detail of what he planned to do with (and to) his boyfriend. Arthur supposed it was sweet of him to go to that distance (he knew Gilbert wasn’t fan of the outdoors) and to make him happy, but right now he just wanted to gag.

“I am going to barf.” He deadpanned as much as Gilbert through his tenth innuendo into the conversation. Gilbert stuck out his tongue to him and instead let his ego be stroked by Francis who was of course the king of all things romantic.

Apparently Antonio had something planned too, but couldn’t tell because of the Italian situated next to him. Said Italian was immensely annoyed by the prospect too, claiming he was going to stand Antonio up if it was going to be anything annoying.

Arthur already knew he was going to be working that day, but that didn’t deter Francis from trying to convince him to join him in the evening for some clubbing. He supposed that could be amusing, and told him that he’d decide later whether or not he was going to join. For now, he wasn’t even sure if he had his fake I.D. with him, or if it was still in his old house.

Of course the school was grant on the entire thing too, milking it out for all it’s worth. As every year, people could anonymously buy roses or chocolate and have them be sent to people by the people who organized it. He wondered how much money would go into such a thing – he saw dozens of girls standing in line every day to buy that stuff.

The school was probably going to be sickly decorated soon too, with all kinds of reds and pinks and purples.

An uneasy feeling struck him – the years he had attended this school, he had always been on the receiving ends of such gifts, and idly he wondered if Francis had been behind them. Sure, one time a love confession from a girl had been with it, but it was common knowledge he didn’t indulge in things like that.

Shaking the feeling off of him, he finished his lunch in time for the bell to ring and signal their next class. It was French, and while Arthur mentioned wanting to skip it, he was all but dragged into the classroom anyway by Francis who wasn’t in the mood to attend it alone.

They bickered loudly in said language as they found a spot in the class, the teacher watching them with mild interest as she always did (she was rather fascinated with their fluency in the language, since most kids were crap in it).

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Alfred walking in with a friend, but he looked away immediately as Alfred turned towards him to look into the classroom. Francis paid him no mind and went on arguing about his tacky hair, to which Arthur made to pull at his own, until they were broken apart by the teacher’s stern voice.

“I have finished grading your essays,” She said in an accented English tone. Arthur always wondered if she was faking it or if she was really French. “And most of you have done horribly.”

Members of the class groaned simultaneously, though Arthur knew he had nothing to worry about. Instead he fingered at the light dents where his bridge used to be, amazed with how easy the skin healed.

“To hopefully improve your results, everyone will be paired in duo’s from now on. Perhaps you can learn from each other.”

“Is she fucking serious?” Arthur grumbled, glaring at Francis. He wished he hadn’t come, he was in no mood to play tutor. Francis shot him an amused grin.

“ _C’est la vie.”_ He whispered back nonchalantly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

She apparently had planned this already and started reading a list she had prepared beforehand, naming couples here and there that from now on had to work together. Arthur realized in horror as most of them were alphabetically coordinated, which would mean-

“Alfred, you can work with Arthur.”

_Oh shit._

He had half a mind to stand up and bolt the classroom as apparently the classroom silenced, probably expecting the same. He felt Francis tense too, his eyes a bit more worrying now and losing their playful glint as Arthur scowled. Francis had been teamed up with Lukas, the lucky bastard. He was considering asking Francis to trade when he noticed Francis had already left their set of tables to go sit with the Norwegian.

As he watched Francis with a sense of betrayal, he couldn’t help notice but Alfred awkwardly shuffling over to where he was sitting, dropping into the previously occupied chair with an air of uneasiness.

Arthur wanted to die, right there.

_C’est la fucking vie._

“I want the pairs to converse about your Christmas break, but try to use as much French as possible. Help each other. _Continuez!_ ”

Arthur opted to just stare at her, feeling as if his jaw was going to drop. He could practically feel people sending them expectant gazes, as if expecting them to start fighting or whatever. Actually, Arthur wasn’t very much against that idea. Well, he didn’t _want_ to fight, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make friendly chitchat with the boy as if nothing-

“So,” Alfred blurted out, effectively blanking Arthur’s mind of his rage. “This is cool, right? _C’est d’accord_ or something? If you want to switch that’s okay… I don’t mind.”

Arthur’s eye twitched, and he was certain he was giving the boy a rather incredulous look. He had half expected Alfred to demand to be switched, but he was being strangely polite and submissive. He noticed he was staring however, as Alfred started fiddling with the sleeve of his stupid bomber jacket, and Arthur nearly choked on the next breathe he took.

“It’s _d’accord_ ,” He ground out, wondering why the hell he was already correcting the other. At Alfred’s confused glance, he resisted the urge to flinch. “You don’t need to say _c’est_. Just _d’accord_ is good.”

“Oh. Right.” Alfred visibly deflated a little, and hearing other people already engage in their conversation, Arthur swallowed his uneasiness and decided to just start and make it less uncomfortable for both of them.

“ _As-tu passé de bonnes vacances?_ Did you, eh, have a nice holiday?” He decided he might as well immediately translate it, because he knew for a fact Alfred was still a bit disastrous in the language, despite having a fluent twin in the language.

Alfred mulled that over, grabbing his dictionary before forming a sentence. “ _Oui, je… j’ai bien joui.”_

Arthur again, wanted to die right then and there. He felt his face heat up in second hand embarrassment, hiding his face slightly as he chose to rub his temples lightly.

He was fairly sure Alfred didn’t really realize he just said that, _yes, he had an orgasm._ Arthur wasn’t going to call him out on it. He had a clue of what Alfred really meant. Perhaps Matthew would realize it before Alfred would actually say such a thing in a test. Perhaps he had already done so. _Oh my god._

“ _Qu'est-ce que tu as fait?_ What did you do?” He managed to stutter out, immensely happy for Alfred’s blissful unawareness for a while.

 _“J’ai visité ma mère_.” Alfred said after a while, not needing a dictionary for that. Arthur nodded – the sentence was okay. He had visited his mother, clean and simple. “ _Et toi?”_

Arthur wanted to chide him for not repeating what Arthur had asked – he would learn that way, but decided not to. He simply explained he had been at home and spend his days with friends and his brother, translating the rougher words here and there.

He dove into more casual topics from there on – things Alfred should definitely know for his exam, like basic greetings and other things. He prided himself on his patience as every time Alfred wanted to say something he grabbed the dictionary and paged his way through it, offering sheepish smiles every now and then when he paused in the middle of a sentence and continued in English.

“Man, you’re so good at this.” Alfred said as he finished with explaining he and Matthew had gone to an amusement park, smiling at him and leaning back. Apparently their conversation relaxed him, but it did nothing of the sort to Arthur. Especially not now he was on the receiving ends on one of Alfred’s famous bashful smiles again. “ _J’ai envie de toi_ or something.”

Arthur blinked – he couldn’t handle this, no, no way. Who the hell was teaching Alfred French? That did _not_ mean that he envied him, despite the similarity in the words. At Arthur’s increasingly reddening face, Alfred must have realized he had said something wrong.

He watched as the boy frowned and opened his dictionary, finding the warning next to his chosen word, and flushed in bright embarrassment as well. If Arthur hadn’t been so completely mortified with their prediction, he would have found it endearing. Alas, his ex-boyfriend confidently telling him he wanted to sleep with him whilst Arthur still had all kinds of feelings was just shit.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Alfred quickly blurted, apparently recognizing Arthur’s fight-or-flight expression.

Arthur felt suffocated in the room all of a sudden, aware people were definitely trying to listen in on them despite not being obvious. He locked eyes with Francis on the other side of the room for a moment, and the Frenchman frowned at him but turned his focus back to Lukas quickly.

“I-“ Arthur said, aware of Alfred inching closer slightly as concern clouded in his blue eyes. It was so _familiar_ and it _hurt_ and why the hell did Arthur wanted to tug him closer and snog him senseless, was his mind even up to date about what had happened the past few weeks?! “I need to go.” Arthur all but squeaked, grabbing his bag and all but darting out of the classroom before the teacher even had time to respond.

Knowing that if this were actually some stupid movie and Alfred were actually stupid enough to follow him, he decided to not go hide out in the restroom or in the cafeteria and instead headed straight for the parking lot. He could skip the rest of the day, he decided as he hurriedly left school property. He’d make up some excuse. Besides, it wasn’t as if Dylan was going to know and chide him for it.

His phone buzzed and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden feeling.

_From: Francis  
1:51 P.M._

_Well that was hilarious. Why the drama?_

Fucking frog. Arthur grumbled to himself and promptly deleted the message. Nothing else followed, much to his disappointment (why the hell was he disappointed?!) and his eyes got glued on the name beneath Francis and some others in the list. Opening Alfred’s thread, he read the apology he had never responded to over and over and heaved a sigh.

It took Francis a few hours before he badgered him again, and this time Arthur had calmed down a little already, sitting on the sofa at home and watching some crappy detective show.

_From: Francis  
4:30 P.M._

_You should have seen Alfred when you left, it was très tragique. Much like a kicked puppy._

_To: Francis  
4:30 P.M._

_Why are you telling me this? I don’t care._

He didn’t, god damn it he didn’t. He could imagine Alfred’s kicked puppy look all too well and he felt like laughing hysterically.

_From: Francis  
4:31 P.M._

_He even had the gall to come up and ask me about you._

_To: Francis  
4:31 P.M._

_What?! What about? Please tell me you didn’t goad him on._

_From: Francis  
4:32 P.M. _

_As amusing as it would have been to tell him that “yes we had an affair and yes I am with your petulant Brit now” I simply told him to figure it out for himself._

Wait, what? Did that mean Alfred actually _asked_ Francis about- well, he couldn’t blame Alfred for getting that impression, what with the rumours and his and the Frenchman rekindled friendship. For some reason he was immensely glad Francis hadn’t though, not that it would have mattered.

Arthur felt warm. Did that mean Alfred was still jealous? The idea was silly, wasn’t it? Too silly. He quickly scrubbed it out of his mind. Perhaps Alfred had just thought he had offended him or something or didn’t want to fight with his new lover. Not that Francis would be jealous if that were the case.

_From: Francis  
4:37 P.M._

_Should I have told the petit chien that you were still very much pining over him?_

How dare-

_To: Francis  
4:37 P.M._

_I wouldn’t bother coming to school tomorrow because I’m going to feed you your own guts._

_From: Francis  
4:38 P.M._

_Kinky, but there is a time and place for everything. ;)_

Jesus, the man was so insufferable at times. Arthur smiled despite himself at the friendly banter. He would think he would figure it out later, what this meant, but he didn’t want to figure it out and decided he didn’t need to figure it out either. What happened between him and Alfred was over and done with, he knew, and he was pretty sure Alfred knew. Right?

_From: Francis  
4:40 P.M. _

_I took the liberty of telling him you haven’t been yourself and are still single. Thank me later!_

He was going to _strangle_ that bastard!  


* * *

 

Arthur had successfully managed to avoid Alfred, mostly by skipping classes and taking alternative routes to classrooms or the cafeteria. Come first Monday of February however, Alfred had apparently had enough. It confirmed that Francis had been telling the truth, and Arthur’s initial fear – Alfred wasn’t happy with how things were.

And Arthur was afraid of what that meant.

It started innocent enough. Seeing how Gilbert was in a doting relationship with Matthew, Matthew often joined them during lunch breaks. Alfred had taken it upon himself to go and sit with his brother from that day on. The first time it happened, the entire table had fallen silent, except for Francis crowing embarrassing things in lewd French that only Arthur could understand. Arthur had left the table soon after, face as red as a lobster.

Tuesday, Alfred did the same, and Arthur decided to be the better person and had not fled. Francis had helpfully kept his commentary to himself this time too, only opting to send smug smirks to Arthur’s direction every now and then as Arthur and Alfred awkwardly interacted only when absolutely necessary. Alfred mostly kept to talking with Matthew and Gilbert, but occasionally the rest were pulled in to, so it couldn’t be avoided.

On Wednesday, Alfred had sat down with them in a jovial mood and had chanced a grin in Arthur’s direction, to which Arthur frowned a little but nodded nonetheless, not wanting to reject the boy with something as friendly as that. Conversation was okay, and nothing much changed yet.

On Thursday, Alfred upped his game and pulled Arthur into an argument with Gilbert over movies – no, not just movies, _superhero_ movies, and Arthur had been so offended that Alfred would actually think Arthur a knowledgeable source on the subject that they had bickered through the entirety of the lunch. Afterwards he noticed Alfred leaving even happier than before and he felt really, really strange.

Friday happened much in the same way, though their argument was about the likeability of tea and coffee this times, and Arthur was surprised how easy it was to fall into this kind of role with Alfred. It only took him the weekend and two more days, before he actually started _anticipating_ their banter with mild curiosity – what would Alfred pull out of his sleeve this time, and how offended could Arthur fake to be?

Valentine’s passed by rather uneventfully – to which Arthur was incredibly grateful. He hadn’t gone clubbing with Francis eventually, and had instead been invited to the movies with Tino and Lukas, their respective boyfriends rejecting the idea of watching a drama. Tino had been rather miffed by it all, but Lukas had appreciated good company over the company of those ‘apes’, and Arthur had a rather good time.

Come March, Arthur was so incredibly used to Alfred’s presence in his friend’s group. He could almost admit Alfred was actually part of his group now, with how often the boy sat at their table. Whilst not having much personal interaction out of school, Alfred had apparently taken the liberty of hanging out with Gilbert and Antonio, all the while maintaining a relatively friendly relationship with Francis, and a way too easy bantering with Arthur.

It was simple, really. They intentionally bumped into each other in the hallways to make each other drop their books, or called each other names as they passed by. In math Alfred would torment Arthur with friendly jabs and in French Arthur would talk non-stop, enjoying the clueless look on Alfred’s face.

During home economics it escalated a little as Alfred was proudly proclaiming for the world to hear about Arthur’s horrible cooking skills, to which Arthur had promptly dumped the content of his earlier bought soda can over the boy’s head and sending them both to detention.

But it only _really_ escalated during P.E. Normally, Arthur didn’t go to P.E. He was pretty confident about his fitness, but every once or twice a year it was absolutely mandatory for him to come so he could be graded. Fortunately the teacher didn’t give a rat’s ass about his absence for the rest of the year.

Arthur had been in the middle of stretching whilst loudly complaining along with Lovino when he noticed it.

Alfred was _staring._

And it made him feel giddy and awkward and weird – but in the light of their new relationship and their rivalry, it had made him feel so _powerful_. He knew a wanting look when he saw one, and Alfred wasn’t doing his best to hide it, it seemed. Needless to say, Arthur took a few extra minutes to stretch and did so exaggeratedly, ignoring Lovino’s unamused glare.

During their game of basketball, where they would be graded for team-play mostly, nobody thought it strange that he clashed physically with Alfred on the opposing team practically all the time. Everybody had been familiar with their new bickering and rivalry by now, so Arthur was free to do as he wanted.

And despite feeling slightly conflicted about what this meant – Arthur _relished_ in Alfred’s awkward movements and stumbling as they had to disentangle from each other after a clash, again.

However, when Alfred apparently was waiting for him after the class ended, Arthur’s confidence faltered. He ran his hand through his freshly washed hair a few times, wondering if he couldn’t just take another route, but alas, there was only one route back to the school.

Alfred offered him a tiny smile. “Artie,” He started, but stopped. Arthur wanted to correct him but held his breath instead. Alfred seemed to have trouble choosing his words so Arthur raised his eyebrows, trying to go for an impatient expression but probably just looking anxious instead. “Eh… you play good. Basketball, that is.”

Wow, that was anticlimactic. He froze as he heard Alfred mutter under his breath and calling himself lame however, knowing this hasn’t ended yet.

“I mean, I’m.. you…” Alfred was at a loss, clearly. “I mean, for a limey. You play good for a limey.” He ended, apparently choosing the easy way out. Arthur wasn’t unhappy about that, and in no time they had their steady banter going again, Arthur wishing he had missed the longing look Alfred sent him as they parted.

Arthur knew that this thing they were currently having was fragile and could snap because it was obvious that it was just a sham. He wasn’t sure what he was hiding himself, but he knew Alfred had provoked this because he wanted them to be closer again. And that made Arthur half lose his mind.

Though he knew he lost his mind for certain when he opened his locker one day and a clumsily wrapped item nearly bashed his face in, tumbling from the mess that was the interior of his locker. He snorted as he turned the item over in his hands, it was either a DVD-box or a book or something, judging by its shape and weight. He stuffed it into his bag, not wanting to open it in front of everyone, and grabbed the rest of his stuff.

He knew exactly whom it was from judging by Alfred’s hopeful expression the rest of the day, and he almost wanted to throw the blasted thing in the trash in front of the boy.

Instead, he waited until P.E. - which he skipped again from there on, grading was over after all -  and hid out in a more secluded area of the school to smoke. Glaring scathingly at the item on the table he sat at, Arthur groaned. Why was this his life? And why did Alfred do something like this, anyway? Arthur rather he just came up and spoke his mind, though he could understand the boy was afraid to do so. Especially now that it would be more likely Arthur would cuss him out. Perhaps this whole banter thing hadn’t been the smartest thing to do.

Rolling his piercing through his lips, he faltered. Instead of being scared for the direct approach, this could be something else entirely too. It could even be a sick joke, but he knew that Arthur was the terrible one, not Alfred. So that would leave only Alfred copying some nauseating romantic move out of a Hollywood movie or something, as he was known to do.

Well, he supposed he rather have it this way than have the boy show up underneath his window with a boom-box.

And he supposed he had it coming. He had known Alfred’s ulterior motive from re-befriending him, if he had to be completely honest. It was too obvious in how Alfred looked at him. And if he had to be really honest here, it was probably his own motive as well, for accepting.

He scoffed, finished his cigarette, and turned the item over in his hands again. It was wrapped, but with plain paper and horribly done too. Sighing at himself and his behaviour, he neatly tore the paper away to reveal, indeed, a book.

But it was Pride and Prejudice, from Jane Austen, and he was fairly sure that book was in the box Alfred had gifted him. Perhaps the boy didn’t know Arthur already had the book. Still, it was a kind gift. Alfred obviously remembered Arthur’s favourite authors, and the book was a good read too. Having two copies of the same book never hurt anyone.

He scowled in disdain however, when he opened the book and there were scribbles and marks everywhere. Scratch being thoughtful – Alfred ruined a perfectly good book! Though he could have expected as much – Alfred always scribbled on his school books as well; notes and comments and loopholes on the information.

He wanted to chuck it away in irritation, when a note attracted his attention. It was Alfred’s handwriting, that was for sure. Years of math and science had made Alfred’s handwriting wobbly and hurried, though not impossible to read.

Arthur came to the conclusion that this was Alfred’s own book, not a new one. The notes weren’t meant for Arthur. Instead, there were scribbles and question marks here and there, around sentences and words. With a jolt he realized some scribbles underneath quotes or surrounding entire paragraphs mentioned that Arthur would know this, or that Arthur would enjoy hearing this as a comeback, or Arthur would respond to this during banter.

 _Well_.

That was unexpected.

Especially now that he realized he _remembered_ Alfred using quotes of classics ever now and then, mostly just to taunt him. Come to think of it, Alfred always did seem eager to engage in a battle of wits concerning quotes from English literature. He had simply thought the boy just knew his stuff.

Not that he read and marked stuff specifically _for_ those conversations.

His curiosity grew, so he decided to page through the book some more. On practically every page there was a note about how Alfred didn’t understand what was going on – which was rather endearing – or about how Alfred was going to slip this into daily conversation with the Brit. The markings and writings were usually done with blue and green – the sentence ‘I have not the pleasure of understanding you’ marked several times and Arthur scowled – and suddenly they turned to a bright red.

 _If you’re still reading then congrats on not boring of me yet!_  

It was written obnoxiously above a chapter announcement, and he realized that the rest _was_ meant for him to read. There were no more comments here and there, but sentences were marked occasionally. Usually those were jokes or puns, or words such as ‘preposterous’ which made Arthur slightly irritated – at least Arthur talked properly, the brat.

The sentences marked were probably meant to be funny, or to be sarcastic, and Arthur found himself smiling a little. He could see the humour in this. His heart made flip however when the next sentence his eyes fell on were marked and circled, little red blots surrounding it as if they were decoration.

_In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you._

He all but jumped from the table as the door behind him slammed closed, Alfred walking out and looking every bit as surprised as Arthur.

“Oh,” Alfred said, face flushing an attractive red colour. “I see you got the book.”

Looking down on where the book had slid from the table, Arthur hurriedly bent down to grab it, dusting it off a little. It was no longer on the same page, but that didn’t matter.

“You ruined a perfectly good book, you did.” Arthur scolded, mentally cursing himself. Why was he always so horrible? That wasn’t what he wanted to say! Alfred took a few steps closer, and Arthur almost thought the boy was going to hug him, but he stopped standing in front of Arthur. He was half expecting Alfred to call him names or to go on with their now familiar taunting.

But instead of some witty comeback,  Alfred raised his hand and almost brushed it across Arthur’s temple, the tiny scar there only visible in close proximity. Arthur winced at the sudden, unexpected tender action, but Alfred didn’t move away.

“Are you okay?”

He really wanted to lie or to say something sarcastic or to just flee as he so usually did, but his mouth did his talking for him.

“Not really.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” Alfred asked softly, obviously referring to Arthur’s old wound. He had wondered when the question would come, had known it would come for sure one day, but Alfred had taken about three months to ask it and Arthur had kind of hoped he had forgotten.

Apparently their little show during the gym class was all the incentive Alfred needed to progress, and Arthur hated to admit he adored the other for taking the lead.

“It’s best if you don’t know.” Well, that was true. Alfred might go into a fit of rage or something. Hell, he wouldn’t put it behind the boy to search out his ex-stepdad to give him a piece of his mind. He idly wondered if Alfred had some sort of anger management issue, but that was a bit far-fetched.

He surprised him however, when Alfred offered a sheepish smile. “I kind of already know.” At Arthur’s alarmed look, he shrugged, his hand dropping to his side.

“That fucking frog-“ It had to be Francis, no one else knew.

“Actually,” Alfred quipped. “I met your brother a few weeks ago. In the supermarket. It was all very awkward.” He laughed nervously. “But he told me when I asked how you were. Man, he was so smug about me asking too.”

Fucking Dylan, that meddler. Why hadn’t he told him? He _knew_ he shouldn’t have told him about Alfred and their fling.

“Though I suppose it’s not a surprise that Francis knew.”

Sighing, Arthur resisted the urge to rub at his temples, rather annoyed at Alfred’s jealousy about that still. “ _Nothing_ is going on between me and him, Alfred. What happened, was years ago, and it was out of my hands. I was, as you know, shitfaced at the time.”

“I know.”  It sounded small, apologetic, and Alfred stuffed his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket as he looked away. “So did you read the book?”

“I already own a copy, thanks to you.” Arthur commented. “But yes, I did.” There was an awkward silence, and Arthur considered bolting, when something else occurred to him. They were in the same P.E. class, and Arthur was skipping it. “Wait a minute, are you _skipping_ class?”

Alfred had the decency to look embarrassed. “Yeah well, I wasn’t really feeling it today. Besides,” he licked his lips, a deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. “I saw you going outside and… I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”

“Why did you give me this, Alfred?”

“I miss you.” The statement had a little more strength and a little less uncertainty behind it. “I know I acted like an ass. I mean, what you did was fucked up, but… But that doesn’t matter. And I thought perhaps being friends would be enough. But… well. No, it isn’t.”

It should be enough and it should definitely matter.

“Who cares how it came to be, right? All that matters is that it happened, or something. And to be honest I really tried to forget about you.” It hurt to know that, but okay. “But it was just fucking impossible, okay? I see you in my car, or in my bathroom scowling at the mirror, or when I looked at my bomber jacket and remember how you were dwarfed in it. And it doesn’t help that I see you every day in school too. And it _hurts._ Every time I look at the fucking tea box I feel like I want to scream, I’ve been stalking your Facebook like a maniac, and I’ve watched more British drama’s and read more English lit than I want to admit. You’re just _everywhere._ ”

The last part sounded kind of amazed, Alfred regarding him with his baby blues as if he were a fucking world wonder. It was weird – he was pretty sure they had spent more time apart or as friends than they had as something more intimate, but Alfred sounded so sure of himself.

Arthur let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, frantically looking around him. There were no people in sight, but he wasn’t able to make a run for it either.

“Don’t run. Please don’t.” Alfred continued softly, apparently recognizing Arthur’s expression.

“The fool doth think he is wise.” Arthur muttered, mostly to himself. _But the wise man knows himself to be a fool_.

Alfred smiled sheepishly. “I don’t think I have read that one.”

“Shakespeare.” Arthur supplied. “What… why the book, Alfred?” He was acutely aware that his voice hitched when saying the other boy’s name. God, he was such a woman sometimes. “You think you can just saunter over here, and give me something like this-“ 

“Look, if you want me to say it I’ll say it.” Alfred said, a little more force behind it again as his eyes shone determinedly. “In front of the entire school even, if you want it.” _God no_. “But I do. I ardently, whatever that means, admire you. And,” _Please don’t._ “I love you. And being your friend is nowhere near enough for me.”

Arthur faltered. Alfred looked so serious, so confident whilst definitely also nervous.

“And I don’t care about your bad boy attitude or whatever. You’re _not_ like that, I know. You’re stuffy, and you like tea time and books, and you watch romantic drama series for _fun._ I love you, okay? I really, really love you.”

Apparently once it went out there was no stopping the flood. Arthur was positive his entire face was red. “Stop saying things like that, and who are you calling stuffy!” He stuttered, his voice lacking its usual venom. Okay, deep breaths. He felt as if he were going to hyperventilate, and _that_ would be embarrassing.

“If you want, I can say it to you every day. Every morning, every evening, and afternoon, during class, via text.” Alfred continued. “I don’t want you to think for even _one_ day that I don’t think the world of you. I’ve been an asshole and I am _so_ sorry and I know you are too and I just… I _love_ you, Arthur.”

Oh, curse him. Arthur felt as if he were going to cry. And then he was definitely going to kick a tantrum, so he blinked them back and bit on his lip harshly.

“I,” He started, voice faltering. Was he expected to say it back? He sure as hell couldn’t, no matter what. How the hell did Alfred turn into a romantic, anyway? Last time he checked he was a puppy that didn’t know what to do with himself. Or perhaps he had just wanted to see the other that way. Come to think of it, Alfred had always been one step ahead of him.

“I’m so sorry.” He instead managed to choke out, feeling his eyes getting watery – but he was _not_ going to cry, damn it. Alfred took another step, so that they were close enough that Arthur could feel the heat radiating from the other boy’s body. “You have every right to loathe me and never want to see me again and-“

He was cut off as Alfred pressed his forehead to the Brit’s, a smile gracing his features. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Arthur resisted wincing at how soft and tender the other said it, as if it the words were for Arthur alone to cherish. Christ, the boy was not even seventeen years old, what the hell did he know about _love?_

And Arthur was only seventeen years old, so what did he know about it being love anyway? He clenched his eyes shut and leant up, gently pressing their lips together. It felt cautious, as if one wrong movement was going to ruin everything again.

But then Alfred slowly circled his arms around the smaller boy, pulling him closer. He gently nipped Arthur’s lip and Arthur allowed him to deepen the kiss, keeping his eyes shut lest he started crying all the same.

It was all very innocent however, Alfred’s thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his lower back whilst Arthur’s hands were tugging at his stupid bomber jacket. He didn’t know how long they were standing there, slanting their lips over each other. It wasn’t heated or hurried, as Arthur was used to, but rather tender and gentle, as if Alfred was trying to convey the same words into a kiss instead.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, days even, they parted. Arthur had calmed down, no longer feeling as if he were going to sob, a grin tugging at his lips when Alfred playfully peppered his face with pecks.

“Let’s skip the rest of the day.” Alfred whispered, nuzzling Arthur’s uninjured temple sweetly.

“I am a bad influence on you.” He sighed.

“Nonsense.” Alfred claimed, pulling back slightly to look at the other. There was a defiant, playful twinkle in his eyes, that told Arthur that no matter what he said, Alfred was going to have his way. “I want you for myself, the entire day and more.”

“Stop it.” He protested, pushing a little at the American’s chest. Alfred’s chest rumbled with laughter and he relented, opting instead for trying to look annoyed. “What did you have in mind, then?”

“Let’s just drive around. I got a full tank to waste after all. We’ll pick up some lunch or something on the road.”

“Are you going to kidnap me for a road trip, or something?”

Alfred laughed again, the sound music to Arthur’s ears. “Perhaps when we’ve graduated.” Oh help him, the boy was planning ahead.

Arthur couldn’t say he minded all that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD IT'S FINISHED  
> I'm kinda sad because there were so many ideas in my head but I didn't want to risk dragging the story out too long. But I'm still happy with this!   
> And I love you guys, you've been so great <3 Thank you all for reading! 
> 
> I kind of translated the French in the story but here it is:   
> C'est la vie - That's life
> 
> As-tu passé de bonnes vacances? - Did you have a nice holiday?  
> Oui, j’ai bien joui. – Yes, I had an orgasm.  
> Qu'est-ce que tu as fait? - What did you do?  
> J’ai visité ma mère – I visited my mother  
> J’ai envie de toi – I want to sleep with you
> 
> Petit chien - Puppy / little dog


End file.
